


Catfishing

by KivaEmber



Series: Wine Cellar [51]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Amnesia, Bullying, Canonical Character Death, Eldritch, Exploitation, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Gaslighting, Gen, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Military, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Non-Consensual Drug Use, One-Sided Relationship, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 10:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 43,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20505284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: The Fourteenth is reincarnated, all memories intact, just in time to witness the rise of the Garlean Empire. Confused and ignorant to the state of the world, he is swept up by the Imperial Army's mandatory conscription just as their aggressive campaign of expansion kicks into high gear. Unsurprisingly, he lands feet first in the middle of an Ascian's plot the moment he arrives at the capital, and is now trapped in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Emet-Selch, whodefinitelyrecognises who he is...But the question is: how can the Fourteenth do anything to put a stop to the Ascians' plan for Garlemald? He's very mortal, and Emet-Selch is decidedly... not.(The answer is: he can't do anything. He tries anyways)





	1. Rebirth

Prometheus was twelve and already sick of life. 

Or, rather, he was sick of reliving _ childhood _ again. 

Sehji, his ‘mother’, was fussing over his coat and scarf. It was cold outside, the snow frozen and sharp, well below freezing, but today was market day no matter the weather, so it meant him and his mother had to leave their isolated hut in the woods to the nearby village to make their living. It was a long journey even in mild weather, and Prometheus genuinely had no patience for it. It was dull, restrictive, and _ boring. _

But. 

“There we go, my little kitten,” Sehji said warmly, tucking an unruly lock of dark hair underneath his knitted hat, “Nice and warm. Are you ready to go?”

“Mhm.”

Sehji never asked to have a reborn Amaurotine as her only child. Despite Prometheus’s obvious _ oddities _ she loved him and cared for him, so he was obligated to play the part to absolute perfection. It was fun, anyways, playing house, actually _ having _ a mother who loved him unconditionally, even if he couldn’t help but feel like a cuckoo. 

His ‘mother’ was quite stocky and broad-shouldered, her dark hair always tied back into a messy ponytail. She was shaped by the hard life she lived, hunting in the cold, wild forests of Garlemald with all the vicious monsters that prowled the dark trees. She was tough, for such a little and young creature. She was also kind, and warm, and reminded him so much of Mentor Metis that it made his heart ache. 

Prometheus loved her. 

So, for her, he’ll keep on going in this little reincarnated life of his. Just for a bit. 

He _ was _ interested to see what became of the world, beyond this little forest, after all. It felt so different, but the fact he was here like this, the fact that people like Sehji and the citizens in the forest village were here, then, Prometheus succeeded, right? He defeated Zodiark and forced everyone into a cycle of reincarnation. He won. 

...right?

* * *

Even though the snow was up to Prometheus’s knees, the village was busy by the time he and his mother got there. The deep, white snow gave way to thin, filmy slush, kicked up and stomped on by many dirty boots until it was a dangerous sliphazard. Prometheus wondered when someone was going to invent grit. 

Sehji kept a deathgrip on his hand as she carefully navigated the press of people in the marketplace. This was the only day in the week where people could stock up on needed supplies, and with the winter coming promising to be a harsh one, everyone was scrambling for everything. There was a lot of yelling, shoving and very aggressive haggling. It was mildly fascinating to watch, this disorderly chaos. Prometheus couldn’t see Amaurotines acting like this. 

“There we go,” Sehji finally reached her usual ‘spot’: the very edge of the marketplace, on the corner of the road that led towards the yak farm. As she wasn’t a ‘Garlean’, she wasn’t officially allowed a stall, but people tolerated her on the fringes - and bought all of her wares of furs, skins and meat, so Prometheus didn’t understand _ why _ they wouldn’t let her have a proper stall if they were going to buy from her anyways. It was odd, so odd. 

“Help me set up, kitten?” Sehji asked, carefully lowering her burden on the slushy ground, “There’s a good boy.”

Prometheus did as he was told. Scraping together some discarded lumber and rocks, they set up a rudimentary stall that Sehji laid out her wares on. The snow had lightened at this point, though the air was so sharp Prometheus had to keep his scarf over his nose so the cold didn’t burn his throat. 

The day passed slowly, as it always did on these days. Sehji never let him out her sight, and he knew that if he asked to explore the marketplace, she’d say no. She distrusted the villagers - apparently, it was common for horrible things to happen to wandering Miqo’te, especially if they were alone. Prometheus asked what these horrible things were, but Sehji just said ‘they’re horrible, that’s all you need to know’. 

So, he stayed at Sehji’s side, watched the flow of people come to the stall, buy something, and walk off, another person, buy something, talk to Sehji for a bit, about hunting, about the weather, then walk off, another person, buy something, talk to Sehji, weather again, then walk off, another person…

Prometheus heaved a quiet sigh, closing his eyes. Fuck, he was so bored. 

How many more years until he counted as an adult?

* * *

“That boy of yours is smart, isn’t he?”

It was the end of the day, Sehji serving the last customer, when the man singled Prometheus out. Immediately he felt wary, and his mother felt the same, who had gone slightly tense. Her friendly smile didn’t waver though, as she looked the man up and down. 

He was a soldier stationed here. Garlemald had a very small army, from what Prometheus had heard, and they tried to keep as many troops in as many settlements as possible, to fend off beasts and the like. Garlemald had a weak economy and were heavily reliant on every settlement being part of the supply chain, so losing a single one could be disastrous. This village only had five soldiers stationed here, though, which didn’t seem like a lot to Prometheus. 

“He is, yes,” Sehji said. Despite her wariness, she couldn’t help but sound proud, “He’s a very smart boy.”

The soldier nodded. His helmet hid his face entirely, black steel that made Prometheus feel uneasy. 

“I’m new to this village,” the soldier continued, “So, I’m trying to learn everyone’s names and roles. You’re the huntress who lives in the forest, right?”

“Ah, that’s right. I come here every week with my son to sell hides and the like. The name's Sehji Beye. My son is Sehji'a Xaiaxu.”

“I see, I see. Is your son planning on becoming a hunter like you?”

Sehji was definitely wary now. 

“...perhaps,” she said carefully. 

The soldier lifted his hand placatingly, “Ahah, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to put you guard. I was just asking, because the army is opening recruitment to those not of Garlean blood in the next year or so. The capital is eager to bolster numbers for some reason, and we have been stretched thin so…”

“My son is twelve,” Sehji said flatly. 

“And recruitment age is sixteen,” the soldier said, “Four years is long enough to think on it, yes? I’m just saying, grand things are coming for this country, and the army is where you want to be. They’re even handing out _ citizenships _ to non-Garleans if they join the military.”

_ That _ gave Sehji pause, though Prometheus wasn’t sure why. Weren’t they already citizens? They lived in the country, didn’t they?

“Just think about it,” the soldier said, “It’s better than living in the woods, right?”

He left before Sehji could answer, and Prometheus watched him go with a thoughtful frown. He didn’t… really understand quite a bit of that conversation. Garlemald could barely support its army as it was, why were they trying to rapidly expand it now? Were they propositioning every single able-bodied, or soon to be able-bodied, person to join the military? Also, what was this about ‘citizenship’? Prometheus was so confused. 

“Kitten,” Sehji said very quietly, “I want you to be very careful around those soldiers, okay?”

Prometheus glanced up at her. Her mouth was pinched, and she looked worried as she cleared up their ‘stall’. Something had her rattled. 

“...okay,” he said, his voice muffled into the scarf. 

He wasn’t interested in joining the military anyways. Amaurot may not have had a military in its time, but Prometheus still knew what it was: a vehicle for war, for fighting, and Prometheus wanted absolutely _ nothing _ to do with that. The moment he was an adult, he was leaving Garlemald, to see the entire world with his eyes, to see how much had changed, so he could return to the Lifestream when this life ended with a clear conscience. He just needed to confirm that he had won. 

“I’d rather be a hunter, than a soldier,” he said, as Sehji hitched up her now empty basket onto her shoulders. 

Sehji looked at him - and smiled, relieved and pleased all in one. The correct answer. 

“I’d prefer that too,” she said, holding out her hand. Prometheus took it, “Alright, my little kitten, let’s go home, okay?”

“Okay!” 

* * *

Four years passed. The same routine. 

Four years passed. Garlemald discovered Ceruleum thanks to the efforts of one Legatus Solus, a rising star in the Garlean military who was praised for both military excellence and scientific brilliance. There were whispers he will soon become an Emperor, but an Emperor of what? 

Four years passed. Military service became mandatory for all able-bodied persons between the ages of sixteen to thirty. 

Four years passed. Prometheus was drafted into the swelling ranks of the Imperial Army.

Four years passed, and Prometheus came to the sickening realisation that he hadn’t won at all. 


	2. Conscription

“Your son has been drafted into military service. He has less than an hour to gather his things and depart with the rest of the conscripts.”

Prometheus glanced at his mother at that announcement, who was pale with an angry kind of fear as she stared at the group of soldiers on their doorstep. There were four in total, all plated in thick, furred armour, a thick coating of frozen snow sticking to the pitch black metal. Prometheus didn’t sense any malice from them, but neither was there any sympathy, their faces hidden behind their black helmets. 

“Right,” Sehji whispered, her fingers clenching on the edge of the door, like she was tempted to slam it shut and leave the group to wait outside. Thankfully, she didn’t, and instead stepped back, inviting the intruders into the cosy warmth of their home, “Please step out of the cold. We’ll… prepare for his journey.”

The soldiers relaxed a fraction. Clearly, they had expected some resistance, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

The gratitude was sincere. It made the atmosphere unpleasantly strange. 

With the soldiers now sitting in their living room, Sehji ushered him into his bedroom, wringing her hands together in open anxiety. Prometheus stayed quiet, unsettled but unsure on how to react to this new development. He had hoped his distance from the village would allow him to miss the ‘net’ the new Imperial Army kept casting out for conscripts, but someone in the village must’ve mentioned him in passing… 

“Xaiaxu,” Sehji murmured once the door to his room was safely shut and they were alone, “You can run, if you want. I will stall them for as long as I can.”

Prometheus stared at her, stunned. 

“...but you’ll be punished,” he said carefully. Everyone in the village had seen what had happened to the innkeeper, when she tried to resist the conscript order. A Centurion had her shot in the middle of the village as an example then threw her corpse out to be eaten by the wolves. 

“I don’t care,” Sehji huffed, “I care about _ you. _ My little kitten, you’re… you’re so gentle and intelligent. You can’t… you can’t be a soldier. Do you know what soldiers do?”

“I’m not a child, Mom,” Prometheus said quietly, “I know what they do.”

“Then _ run," _Sehji said, “I have… I intended it to be a surprise, but, I’ve saved enough money for… you can use it to go to Sharlayan, the island of scholars I told you about? Do you remember? They’ll accept you there, and they shun fighting and you can be a scholar, like you said you wanted to be, and-”

“Mom,” Prometheus interrupted gently, “I’m not running away if it means you being _ killed.” _

Sehji made a soft noise. Frustrated, despairing, but she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. After a moment of quiet, she opened her eyes and slowly exhaled. 

“Then,” she said firmly, “I best make sure you’re prepared for your journey.” 

She helped him pack. She was angry - a little at him, a little at herself, a little at the situation in general - but Prometheus ignored the anger and focused on her worry. She helped him pack his winter gear, his hunting gear, let him have the ‘good’ bow and the hunting knife, and forced a hefty pouch of gil into his pack despite his protests. By the end of it, half an hour had passed, and she was bundling him up into his winter travelling gear like he was a child all over again. 

“Be wary of the Garleans,” Sehji said softly as she buttoned his coat up, “You’ll be going to the capital, where there aren’t many of… us. Never be caught alone after dark. Stay away from alleyways. Always be respectful to your superiors. Always say ‘yes, sir’ or ‘yes, ma’am’, never, ever, give them a reason to punish you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And… and write to me, as often as you can. Unless it’s expensive, of course, then…”

“I’ll write,” Prometheus promised. He intended to keep that one.

“Good boy,” Sehji whispered, smoothing her hands over his coat. Her head was lowered, but he still caught the tears in her eyes, “You’re such… a good boy.” 

Prometheus heart ached. Sehji didn’t deserve any of this. 

He learned a few years ago that Sehji had children before him. They never survived long, though. The winters would take them, or the harsh storms that swept the land, or they had a sickly constitution. Prometheus was her only child to live past five years old, strong of body, and so she clung to him tight, fearful of losing him too. Honestly, he put off his plans to travel the world just because of that. He could leave in his mid-twenties, at the very least. 

Yet now…

“Don’t worry,” he said, nudging her with a smile, “I’ll come back. Compulsory service is only four years.” 

Sehji sniffed and looked up at him, giving him a watery smile, “Ah, that’s true…”

“I’ll come back, and we’ll _ both _ go to Sharlayan,” Prometheus promised, lifting his hand up, pinky outstretched, an old childhood ritual that Sehji started, and he kept going, just because he found it endearing, “I’ll save up enough money for it too. Promise.”

“Okay,” Sehji linked her pinky with his, and they both smiled at each other. Prometheus felt pleased. 

This was the correct choice. He felt it in his bones. 

* * *

The snow had picked up when Prometheus left his home in the company of the four soldiers. They boxed him in between them, as if expecting him to make a break for it - and it was a legitimate fear. The trees were so thick in these woods that if he bolted before they could grab him, they’d lose him within minutes. 

But Prometheus remained docile. The soldiers watched him suspiciously, but they weren’t unkind. 

“So, how do you even say your name?” One of the soldiers asked mid-way through the walk. The silence, broken only by the crunch of snow, must’ve been getting to him. His voice sounded young, “Sha-eye-a-shoe?”

“Xaiaxu,” Prometheus said, almost cringing at the mangling of his name, “But if that’s too hard, just call me Prom.”

“Prom? What’s that from?”

“Ah, just a nickname.” 

“Sounds odd for a nickname. Is it, like a Miqo’te thing, or-”

“Will you two be quiet?” The lead soldier snapped, “You’ll attract the beasts if you keep chatting about pointless shit.” 

“S-Sorry, sir!” the soldier squeaked, then went quiet. 

Prometheus looked forwards again, wondering how they were going to journey to the capital. Due to the harsh weather conditions of this region, the aether currents were massively unstable, so they were vastly behind in the development of Aetherytes. Even the Lifestream felt restless here, to the point where Prometheus would’ve even dare attempt a teleport using its current, lest he get torn to shreds. That meant they’d have to walk, and in this weather, in this season? It was dangerous. 

Garlemald suffered from devastating weather phenomenons all year round. If it weren’t a hurricane, it was a monsoon, or a drought, or a blizzard, or a tornado - it was the way the aetherical currents from across the entire continent pooled and collided here. Every village, every town, even the _ capital, _ were continuously destroyed or heavily damaged by the weather, with the citizens resigned to continuously rebuilding what little infrastructure they could preserve. It was why their roads were still dirt tracks, why an electrical grid wasn’t a thing, why running water was a luxury few could afford, why scientific development grinded to a slow, inevitable halt. 

Garlemald was poor and tiny and weak. So, it made Prometheus uneasy that they were expanding an army they couldn’t possibly sustain. 

The temperature had dropped further by the time they reached the village, and waiting for them was a small group of villagers Prometheus vaguely recognised from his weekly market visits. They all looked unhappy and cold, some bitterly angry. Prometheus made sure to keep his distance from the group, not wanting to become an unintentional target for their frustrations. 

“Alright, Conscripts,” the lead soldier barked, “We’ll be walking to the capital at _ my _ pace. Those who can’t keep up will be shot. Garlemald has no need for _ weak links _ in our Imperial Army, so you better dig deep and show that Garlean grit, you hear me?”

The group quietly mumbled. Prometheus remained silent. 

“I said _ you hear me?!” _

“S-Sir, yes, sir!” The group yelled. Prometheus muttered along with the shout.

“Good. Now _ form up! _Three ranks! Go!”

Prometheus found himself at the rear of the group, not that he minded, though it meant he couldn’t see anything directly ahead. He was the only Miqo’te out of a mixed group of Garleans and Hyurs, and therefore was the shortest since he hadn’t finished hitting his growth spurt yet. Just a little over five foot, Prometheus was at a disadvantage with shorter legs and a weaker body than his fellow conscripts, not that he let it bother him. 

Garlean grit? That was nothing compared to _ his _ grit. 

* * *

Out of a group of eleven, they lost two after the first day. 

The first Conscript to be shot was a young Hyur lad. He looked barely older than Prometheus, with baby fat still rounding his pale cheeks. The snow had started coming in thick and fast by the time evening crept in, and upon realising that the soldiers were intending to keep marching throughout the night, made a break for it. 

He was shot dead before he took five paces. 

They left him on the roadside. 

That energised their group somewhat. Some had been starting to flag from fatigue, but the threat of execution gave them strength no rest could. Prometheus just felt horrified, unable to accept how _ wasteful _ that was. These little creatures lived such short lives, but sixteen? _ Sixteen? _ That boy had decades of potential left in him, and _ wasted_…!

But Prometheus could do nothing but march. So he did so in a quiet, seething rage.

The second Conscript was a Hyur woman a few hours after the sun had set. She looked to be a few years older than Prometheus, her shoulders broad and arms thick with muscle common to farmhands. He faintly recognised her as the yak farmer’s daughter, who would sometimes sell milk to Sehji on market days. While she was strong physically, it seemed long marching was too much for her. She started to flag. 

He watched her as she started drifting down the ranks, the lantern tied to her backpack wavering violently with her struggling gait, until she ended up in the rear with him. Then she started to walk slower than him. 

Prometheus looked over his shoulder at her, shortening his paces enough to stay abreast of her. 

“C’mon, you can’t slow down,” he encouraged her in a whisper, so the lead soldier wouldn’t hear, “Just a little longer-”

“I-I don’t need a _ cat _ telling me what to do!” the farmgirl snapped breathlessly, her face scrunched up with exhausted fear and anger, “I’m- I’ll catch up, alright? J-Just, leave me alone, I’m… y-you’re putting me off!”

Prometheus reluctantly left her alone. 

An hour later, the lead solder dropped back in the group and past Prometheus. A few minutes later, a single gunshot cracked through the dark, snowy night. 

A waste. 

They marched until the sun rose, and by then the rest of the group were half-frozen and terrified. Prometheus was kept warm by the anger he kept kindling in his chest… and some cheating. While he didn’t possess the magic he once had in his original body, he still knew how to manipulate aether. It was child’s play to cycle it through his body, to keep his core temperature up and fend off the chill, to revitalise sore muscles and keep himself going long past his physical limits. While everyone began limping or staggering, his strides remained swift and sure.

So, when the lead soldier called for a halt and allowed them to take a rest in a copse at the base of a steep hill, Prometheus was the only one who didn’t immediately collapse. He still felt pretty energised, actually. 

This, unfortunately, caught the lead soldier’s attention. 

“Cat!” he barked, making Prometheus almost jump out of his skin, “Drop your pack and come with me!” 

Prometheus froze for a moment, unsure, but he quickly dropped his pack near the group of panting conscripts and scurried after the lead soldier. Much like him, the soldier didn’t seem at all exhausted after the twelve hour march, and simply led him into the copse. Prometheus wondered if he was going to shoot him for no reason. He seemed like a trigger happy individual. 

They stopped in the middle of the copse. Prometheus could still see the group if he squinted through the skinny, silver-streaked trees. The lead soldier simply stared at him for a long moment, his gaze hidden behind his helmet. Prometheus tried not to squirm. 

“Prom, wasn’t it?” the lead soldier said, “I’m Centurio Mateo.”

Prometheus stayed quiet, still wary. 

Centurio Mateo chuckled. His voice was raspy, like he suffered from some sort of throat injury at one point, and his laughter wheezed out in a way that made Prometheus’s ears flick back in discomfort. 

“You’re not like the rest,” Centurio Mateo said, “You’ve got stamina, determination and obedience, where a lot of those rabble struggle to complete even this short walk without bitching or moaning about it. You’re not even tired, are you?”

Prometheus kept his face blank, even as he wondered what this was leading up to. It was rare for a Garlean to praise an ‘outsider’. It immediately put him on guard. 

“Not really,” he admitted, since pretending otherwise would just cause drama he didn’t want to deal with, “I could keep going if asked.”

Centurio Mateo laughed again, “Good. _ Good. _ Ah, it’s worth it dragging home chaff just to find gems like you…”

Prometheus waited, pressing his weight into his heels. He had no idea what was going on, and it made him anxious. 

“I think I’ll keep an eye on you,” Centurio Mateo said, “It’s good for your sort to have someone like me on your side. Cats? They’re not well-liked in the capital. But with me on your side? You’ll go far. Just stick with me, do as you're told, and you'll have a nice, easy career.”

He clapped Prometheus on the shoulder, heavy-handed and hard enough to hurt. His fingers gripped into his shoulder, biting, and Prometheus stayed very, very still. 

_ (“Be wary of the Garleans. Always be respectful to your superiors. Always say ‘yes, sir’ or ‘yes, ma’am’, never, ever, give them a reason to punish you, okay?”) _

“Got it?” Centurio Mateo said. 

“Yes, sir,” Prometheus said, and it must’ve been the correct response, because Centurio Mateo clapped his shoulder again and let him go. 

“Good. Now, gather firewood for the weaklings. They’ll freeze long before they reach the capital at this rate and I need to bring back more than _ one _ person, no matter how exceptional.”

Prometheus nodded, watching as Centurio Mateo walked back to the group. He was confident that Prometheus wouldn’t run off. Hm, probably why he told him to leave his pack back there. If he left without his supplies, he’d surely die in the wilderness. 

Ugh, why did he have a bad feeling about this? Why did Centurio Mateo single him out like that? It made him feel so uneasy... 

He wiped his shoulder where the Centurio had touched it, mildly disgusted that such a wasteful man got so close to him, before moving to collect firewood. He was used to doing this task for Sehji, so it didn’t take long for him to gather what was needed to build a sizeable fire for a group of thirteen. 

At the marching pace they were setting, it would only take three more days to reach the capital. After that, Prometheus didn’t know what to expect. Honestly, he was mildly excited. It was something new, and it might be fun, and if he kept his head down and did as he was told, he might escape after four years relatively unscathed and with enough money to take his mother to Sharlayan like he promised. 

Four years? That was nothing to him. 

In better spirits, Prometheus went back to the group. Four years. Easy. 

(A lot can change in four years)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i updated so quickly but this idea has GRIPPED ME even tho the build up to emet-selch appearing takes a while hrfff
> 
> but yeah prometheus already enters the army calling himself Prom he might as well just hang a sign over his neck like "LOOK AT ME HADES IT IS I YOUR LONG LOST FRIEND"


	3. Duality

Centurio Mateo let them rest for about six hours before starting the march up again. 

The conscripts didn’t dare complain. The two wasted lives getting shot still kept them obedient and driven by self-preservation, practically cowering before Centurio Mateo’s barked commands and derisive insults. The other three soldiers merely stayed quiet - from exertion or fear, Prometheus wasn’t sure. Whatever the reason, there’d be no sympathy or help from that corner. 

“You, Cat,” Centurio Mateo snapped out when Prometheus tried to slink to the rear of the group, “Stop hiding back there. Up front. Show these weaklings the standard they need to meet.”

Prometheus hesitated, feeling uneasy. The eight other conscripts gave him looks of poorly concealed envy and resentment, and he meekly went to the front of the group underneath Centurio Mateo’s impatient glare. He had been barely tolerated back in the village, but he knew that the villagers viewed him and his mother with suspicion. Apparently there were old tales about Miqo’te in Garlemald, about them being able to transform into beasts on nights of full moons and eating innocent Garleans. Nonsense, of course, but the suspicion lingered in the more isolated communities. 

Sehji being powerful enough to go toe-to-toe with the local monsters single-handedly for their valuable hides and meat didn’t do much to dispel that perception in their village either.

Centurio Mateo made him march in line with him, close enough that their arms almost brushed as they walked. It made Prometheus’s skin crawl and his pulse pound hard in his ears, but he kept his anger on a tight leash by focusing on circulating his aether. He let it warm his frozen limbs, ease his aching muscles, expand his lung capacity, calm, calm, calm, breathe, circulate, breathe, circulate, breathe…

The forced march went on. 

They lost another conscript several hours in. A Hyur man who simply stopped walking and lied down in the snow. Centurio Mateo left Prometheus’s side long enough to deal with him. 

That was all the Hyurs gone. All that remained were Garleans and Prometheus. He could hear the ragged, strained breathing of the remaining conscripts, smell their fear and determination, hear the pounding of several heartbeats pushed to the brink. This forced march was brutal - it was _ unnecessary. _ What was the point of it? To shift the weak from the strong? In which case, why bother with the draft? It was so _ wasteful_, so wasteful, so wasteful! 

So _ cruel. _

Prometheus _ despised _ pointless cruelty. 

Yet, the forced march went on. 

* * *

It was the third day, and Prometheus’s blisters had blisters. 

He didn’t dare remove his boots to check, kept them on as he stonily stared straight ahead into the swirling snow. This was their last break before they pushed onwards into the capital. Of the original eleven conscripts, only six remained. 

Six, haggard conscripts, and Prometheus was the only one who didn’t look like he just finished crawling his way out of hell. He was also being shunned at this point, the other five Garleans shooting him poisonous looks like it was _ his _ fault the others couldn’t keep up. In another life, Prometheus probably would’ve been upset about that, but honestly, after the Doom, after Zodiark, after Hydaelyn… it seemed kind of petty. Also, they were practically _ babies _compared to him, so, you know, whatever. 

He flexed his stiff fingers, trying to keep the blood flow going. Even with his aetherochemical manipulations, his body was starting to reach its limits. He was only sixteen, after all, and aether couldn’t perform miracles. He’ll make it to the end, though. Prometheus wasn’t so weak as to let a tiny bit of exhaustion make him falter. If he endured having his soul Sundered from the inside out, then this…

It was nothing. Insignificant. 

“Alright, stop lazing about!” Centurio Mateo’s voice barked out, “Form up! Final push!”

The conscripts groaned, and Prometheus rose from where he’d been sitting on his pack and shouldered it. The straps bit into where it had rubbed his skin raw from under his coat, his muscles screaming in protest, but he ignored it. He tried not to limp when he shuffled to ‘his’ spot at Centurio Mateo’s side, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back the grimace when the vile man gripped his aching shoulder and gave it a squeeze. 

“A few more hours, and you’ll have a warm bed waiting for you,” Centurio Mateo said to him, almost sounding friendly. It made Prometheus’s skin crawl. 

“Now, march!”

They marched. 

* * *

Garlemald was… unimpressive. 

It was a tiny city sheltered in the shadow of a towering mountain range, protected by thick walls. Some of those walls were collapsed, probably from a recent storm, and when they were marched through the front gates and through the wide streets, it was unsettlingly _ derelict. _ Majority of homes were like shanty houses, temporary and cheap to fix, clearly scavenged together from scrap metal and other refuse. The only buildings with any kind of permanency in mind looked _ ancient_, jutting out from the sea of shanty houses like old ruins. Clearly remnants of an ancient civilisation, whose methods of creating buildings to endure Garlemald’s harsh weather were lost to time itself. 

Yet, that wasn’t the oddest thing about the city. On the very edge of Prometheus’s hearing, growing louder as they were marched deeper into the city, he could hear a grinding, churning noise, like metal scraping on metal. It was clearly artificial, but past the ancient buildings, the temporary housing, and the dark, looming walls that encased the city, he couldn’t see what the source was. 

He couldn’t be the only person hearing it, but the few citizens he could see milling in the spaces between the shanty houses seemed occupied in only picking through piles of scraps, or huddling around burning fire for warmth. Hungry, envious eyes followed their group, and with an uneasy feeling, Prometheus realised none of them were _ Garlean. _

Something was really wrong here.

The feeling only grew when they finally reached the rear wall of the city. Rough, uneven stone gave way to smooth, black metal, and the doors embedded in the metal wall were decades more advanced than the city’s front gates. It was an electrical door, accessible with a _ keycard lock _ that automatically opened when Centurio Mateo fished a plastic ID card out of his satchel and presented it. Yet, that wasn’t the weirdest part. 

Past the electric door, another world waited. 

The buildings here were _ modern. _ Not quite Amaurot modern, with skyscrapers, but they were more advanced than the ancient ruins making up the bulk of the city. They were constructed out of jet-black metal, uniform and set in neat rows. The path under their feet was smooth tarmac, and not the gravel dirt in the city, and the streets - actual _ streets _ \- had _ electric lamp posts. _

It had _ running electricity. _

It was like stepping into an alien world, and Prometheus’s unease came rushing to the fore as the other conscripts gaped in amazement. This advanced settlement was brimming with people, all wearing military uniforms, some marching in groups, others ambling around as pairs, and the grinding and groaning of machinery was unmistakable. Prometheus could see some sort of crude vehicle growling near the gates their ragged group had stepped through, and a bunch of people in oil-stained overalls frowning into its vibrating engine.

Something was _ very wrong here. _

This level of advancement - it was so _ disjointed. _ Why were their barracks like this, but their capital city still rundown? There was no evolution of architecture, no signs that this was a gradual development, just, bam, instant advancement. It defied everything Prometheus understood about societal evolution. It was… it wasn’t _ right. _

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Centurio Mateo boasted, taking their shell-shocked silence as amazement, “Welcome to the _ future. _ This is all thanks to Legatus Solus van Galvus, a man so brilliant he discovered a way for us Garleans to _ finally _ crawl out of the _ hole _ our disgusting neighbours forced us into. With his guidance, our military might will become the strongest in the northlands!”

Solus van Galvus. The name rung a bell, but Prometheus’s stunned mind couldn’t grasp from where. He was still staring at a nearby lamp post, boggled senseless by its mere existence. People back in the village didn’t know what a fucking _ lightbulb _ was, how the hell did it exist _ here? _

“It’s even rumoured he’ll take complete control…” Centurio Mateo continued in a low, smug murmur, partly to himself, “But, enough on that. You’ve travelled long, and I’d say you’ve earned yourself a warm bed for the night. Follow me, conscripts, to your new home.” 

Prometheus mutely followed. Centurio Mateo led them through the neat, uniform streets of the estate until he reached a medium sized building. It was two stories high, and large enough to house at least fifty people on each floor. Prometheus could hear the gurgle of pipes in the walls. It had running water too. 

“In you get, conscripts. An empty bed is a free bed- except you, Cat. You sat here.”

Prometheus paused, waiting as the five other conscripts shuffled into the building without a single glance his way. The door shut after them, and Centurio Mateo studied him for a moment. 

“To prevent… _ misunderstandings,” _ Centurio Mateo said, “Garleans are kept separate from the other races. You will stay with the other Cats. Follow me.”

Prometheus cautiously followed, remembering Sehji’s advice not to go down any alleyways. Not that there were any around here. The layout was so uniform, and the spaces so wide between the buildings, there wasn’t really anywhere to hide, and with so many people coming to and fro, you were never alone with someone, _ really_.

Centurio Mateo led him to the furthest corner of the estate, where a much smaller building waited for him. It was single story, but widely sprawling, and painted an ugly dark green. It was obviously less comfortable than the one the Garleans were offered. But it had electricity and running water, judging by the gurgle of pipes and the wires leading to it. It was leagues better than what any native Garlean would enjoy.

“This is your new home,” Centurio Mateo said, “All the outsiders stay here, and are expected to be on their best behaviour. Good behaviour will yield you perks other citizens enjoy, including allowance to leave camp, and who knows, if you work hard, you will be given your citizenship within twenty years.”

_ Twenty years? _ That was fucking insane. He wasn’t staying here for twenty years to _ maybe _ get citizenship.

“I see,” was all Prometheus said to that nonsense. 

Centurio Mateo, thankfully, didn’t seem bothered by Prometheus’s lack of enthusiasm. In fact, there was something pleased about him, and it put Prometheus immediately on edge. 

“Not exactly fair, is it?” Centurio Mateo said with false sympathy, “I agree. That’s why I’m willing to, ah, stick my neck out for gems like you. Unlike those entitled brats back there, you’re strong. I see a lot of potential in you, and it’d be a shame for something as petty as _ race _ get in the way of polishing that up.”

“...”

“I know, you’re wondering what’s the catch,” Centurio Mateo rasped out a laugh, “There’s no catch. It’ll be a simple, straightforward arrangement. You do exactly as I say, and I’ll make sure that twenty year wait becomes _ four. _Practically a free citizenship, you’d be an idiot to pass it up.”

Right, because that didn’t sound _ sketchy as hell. _

“I see,” Prometheus said neutrally, “You must have a lot of influence to achieve that.”

“I’ve many friends in high places,” Centurio Mateo said simply, “I’m skilled in sniffing out useful people, and my instincts? They’re telling me you’re _ very useful. _ I put in the right word in the right ear, and everyone will quickly see that too.”

Prometheus felt uneasy. Useful? This soldier barely knew him. Just because he survived a long, arduous march didn’t mean shit. The other five conscripts survived too. Yet, this man… he had been oddly focused on him from the start. He also felt a little weird, though Prometheus couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“I mean, it’s rare to see someone so young already a master of aetherochemical manipulation,” Centurio Mateo continued, his tone dangerously soft. Prometheus’s blood ran cold, “In fact, it’s unheard of.” 

_ How did he…? _

“W-What are you talking about?” Prometheus asked, mentally cursing himself at his stammer, “Aethero… what? Never heard of that before.”

“Hmm,” Centurio Mateo put a lot of disbelief into that one sound, but he didn’t push, “We’ll see. Just know, I’m keeping an eye on you, and remember, if you do exactly as I say, you’ll go _ very _ far, Cat. A lot further than the chaff that blew in with you.”

The unsettling man left then, practically melting into the shadows between buildings. Prometheus remained rooted in place, his heart thumping like he just narrowly missed a round to the chest. What the hell was that about? Who the hell was Centurio Mateo? How did he know he had been manipulating his internal aether? Garleans didn’t possess sensitivity to aether, so he shouldn’t have been able to sense…

Then again, he kept that armour on, so he could’ve been a Hyur for all he knew. Maybe… maybe that was it. He was a Hyur who was, who was very sensitive to aether, and, and picked up on what he’d been doing.

Yeah, okay. That sounds logical. 

Comforting himself with that thought, Prometheus turned to his new home and nudged the door open. This whole situation was rattling him, but there must be a logical explanation for it all. He just had to stay calm and let himself take everything in stride. He had won. He had _ won_, okay. This Legatus Solus fellow was probably a, a once in a life-time genius who was also military minded, and that’s why this place was so advanced compared to the city. 

Yeah. That… that sounded logical. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw i think i forgot to mention, this fic takes place 50 years before the start of ARR, so no BEARD SOLUS. Just so you know.


	4. Hope Turned Inside Out

The block Prometheus entered had a very basic layout. 

It had two wide corridors in the shape of a plus sign, separating it into four segments. According to the signs on the wall, these segments segregated everyone based on their race, and Prometheus obediently scurried to the north-western segment that was labelled ‘Miqo’te’. 

This opened up into another, yet smaller, corridor lined with doors. They were numbered and labelled. One said ‘ablutions’, the other ‘utility’, another ‘baggage’ and then the doors began having names on them instead. He counted four names per door, so he wandered further and further down the corridor until he reached the very end, where one door read: 

_ Legionarius  _ _ T'xado _

_ Legionarius Pahto Jetraa _

_ Legionarius Ahyi Shekei _

_ <BLANK> _

Guess this was his spot. 

He knocked first, as was polite, and waited until he heard a muffled voice calling for him to come in. He tentatively entered, feeling oddly nervous. This was the first time he’d meet another Miqo’te, so he was honestly unsure on what to expect. Would they be like this mother? Will they be kind? Friendly? He hoped they were friendly… 

The room was cramped, considering it housed four people, with two sets of bunk beds. There was barely any floor space, boots, clothes, backpacks, armour all littering the floor in an organised kind of chaos. There was only one person in the room, and they were a woman, a muscular Miqo’te who was sat on the floor polishing her boots. 

“Oh, wow,” the woman said, looking genuinely surprised, “They actually found a  _ bloke?” _

“Uh,” Prometheus wasn’t sure how to respond to that, “Yeah? Sorry, am I in the wrong place…?”

“Nah, you’re in the right place,” the woman said, dropping her boot and polishing brush and standing up. She wiped her brown stained hand on her loose-fitting shorts, stepping over the mess strewn over the floor, and thrust her hand out expectantly, “The name’s T’xado! But you can just call me Xado, I don’t mind.”

“Oh, um, nice to meet you. I’m Xaiaxu, but people call me Prom,” Prometheus said, awkwardly taking the hand. He never had a handshake before, and Xado squeezed his hand almost painfully tight as she aggressively shook his arm up and down. It made his aching shoulder twinge. 

“Prom, huh? Is that your ‘assimilated’ name?” Xado asked with a wry twist to her lips, finally letting go of his hand.

“Er, something like that,” Prometheus said, clutching at that excuse quickly, “I don’t mind it, though.”

Xado puffed at her fringe. She had very thick, tightly curled hair, a dark brown that matched her equally dark skin. Unlike himself, Xado’s pupils were thin, dark slits, and her canines were surprisingly blunt. Prometheus didn’t realise Miqo’te had such physiological differences between individuals. 

“Well, if you don’t mind it…” Xado muttered, “Anyway, welcome. I feel like I should warn you, though: you’re the only guy here.”

“Huh?”

“The only male Miqo’te,” Xado clarified, “All the other Cats are women, so, uh, I’d be careful you don’t get mobbed. They’re really strict about segregating the races during their down time, so some of these girls haven’t spoken to a guy in months.”

“I… I see…” 

Xado chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder playfully, “Aw, don’t make that face! I’m just exaggerating. You look far too young for most of them to show an interest. You’re, what, fourteen?”

“Sixteen,” Prometheus muttered, swaying from the friendly nudge, “My growth spurt is late.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Xado grinned, showing of pearly white teeth, “C’mon, take that load off. You look ready to drop. That bottom bunk is free. Though, you’ll need to shove some of the stuff off of it.”

Prometheus gratefully unshouldered his pack, carefully picking over the messy floor to the free bunk bed. There were clothes and other items on the bare mattress, which he carefully transferred to a clear patch of space on the floor. During this, Xado went back to her previous spot on the floor and resumed polishing her boots. 

“The ablutions is shared, so don’t be surprised if you bump into a naked lady in there,” Xado said, “And it’s lights out at 2200hrs sharp. Lights on at 0530hrs, in time for reveille at 0600hrs. Then it’s mandatory breakfast at 0615hrs until 0700hrs, where all Legionarius - that’s us - have to attend this boring parade to get droned at by some Centurio for an hour.”

Prometheus slowly sat on the bunk as he listened, leaning forwards slightly so he didn’t knock his head on the top bunk’s underside, and started to unlace his boots. His feet were throbbing, stinging with a hot kind of pain. It was going to be a nightmare to peel his socks off, he knew. 

“Is that everyday?” he asked.

“Yup.  _ Everyday. _ It gets dull fast, but, hey, you get used to it.”

“Mm,” Prometheus carefully eased his left boot off, tilting his foot to the side to inspect his sock. The white, woollen fabric was stained brownish red at the heel. Hm, like he thought. He walked his feet raw.

“Oh, damn,” Xado noticed too, “I thought you were walking funny. Didja come from far away?”

“We marched for three days solid, so I guess so,” Prometheus said, setting his boot down and peeled off his sock. It smelt horrible, soaked with sweat and blood and just general ‘feet’ smell, but he ignored it - and the stinging hot pain - until finally the sock came off. He had blisters, quite a few had popped, and then there was his heel… 

The skin had been stripped off completely, the bloody underneath already half-scabbed and bright pink. Smears of dried blood stuck to the arch of his foot, and Prometheus sighed. It was probably the same on the right foot too. 

Xado made a sympathetic noise, “Shit. That looks  _ painful.” _

“Kinda painful,” Prometheus admitted. Still, not the worst thing he endured. He gingerly dropped his bloodied sock, and quickly took off his right boot and sock. Luckily, this wasn’t as bad as the left, though he had a very nasty pressure blister on the heel of that one. The next few days were going to be agonising walking around, he could see it now. 

“Hold on a mo’,” Xado said, and she reached over, underneath her bunk, to haul out a rather worn leather satchel. After some rummaging, she took out a thin, small vial filled with bioluminescent blue fluid. 

“Here’s a potion,” she said, holding it out. Prometheus leaned over to cautiously take it, “It won’t completely heal your feet, but it should make it less painful for you in the morning. Just sleep without your feet covered to let air get to the blisters, and you’ll be golden.”

“Oh,” Prometheus held the bottle, staring at Xado in genuine amazement, “Uh, thank you. This is really kind of you.” 

Xado waved it off with a huff, “Psh, it’s nothing.”

But it  _ was _ something. Outside of his mother, Xado had shown him more kindness than anyone he’d ever met in this life. After witnessing Centurio Mateo’s casual cruelty over the last few days, this off hand, unthinking compassion settled something in him. He hadn’t realised how jaded he’d become about these young, little creatures, how he expected them to do something mean, even as he hoped they’d be kind. He felt a rush of parental affection, of pride. They weren’t beyond hope after all. 

“I’d suggest you wash first before using the potion, though,” Xado continued, oblivious to Prometheus’s thoughts, “No offence, but you reek like the rear end of a chocobo.”

“I do?” Prometheus lifted his arm, experimentally sniffing his armpit - and coughed, “ _ Urgh, _ I do…”

Xado giggled, slapping a hand against her thigh, “Oh, goodness, you’re too cute. Hey, you have soap? I can lend you some of mine, if you need it.”

“Ah, no, I’ve got soap and stuff.”

“Alrighty. The shower’s at the end of the corridor. It’s real easy to use, but if you get confused, gimme a shout, okay?”

After agreeing to call for help if he was flummoxed by a shower (a thought that filled Prometheus with a childish kind of amusement), he left the room stripped down to only his boxers, his towel and soap tucked under one arm. He limped gingerly, pressing his weight onto the balls of his feet to avoid putting pressure on his heels. By the time he reached the showers he was sweating with raw agony. 

He really hoped that potion worked, because  _ fuck, _ he was starting to push the limits of his pain threshold now. He didn’t know one’s feet could hurt this bad...

The showers, thankfully, were straightforward to use. They were primitive, compared to what Amaurot had, but it spewed out hot water at an acceptable pressure so he declared it the Best Shower To Ever Exist and stood underneath the hot spray in a blissful daze. His shoulders stung, the skin broken from friction burn, and the bottom of his feet ached, but the heat was  _ heavenly _ on his sore muscles. It took him a long while to will his arms to move enough to actually  _ wash himself. _

“I need to reinvent this for Mom back home,” he muttered to himself. He could probably jury-rig a rudimentary boiler with a water and fire crystal, though the plumbing might be a pain to sort out. 

After briskly washing off the grime and stale sweat from the three day march, Prometheus reluctantly turned off the shower and towelled himself dry. The ablutions were chilly, no central heating, it seemed, so he wrapped himself up tight in his towel like it was a blanket, swiftly padding almost on his tiptoes as he left the cold ablutions, down the equally chilly hallway and back to his room. 

And walked into what felt like a  _ wall _ . 

“Oof!” he wobbled back a step, his tail lashing wildly to help him keep his balance. He blinked up at the  _ tallest _ Miqo’te he’d ever seen, who blinked down at him with equal surprise. She was so tall! And muscular! Holy crap, her shoulders were so broad! She looked like she could bend him into a pretzel! He was impressed!

“Whoa,” he said unthinkingly, “You look so strong!” 

The muscular woman stared down at him for a long moment. 

“And you’re so tiny,” she said, in an accent he didn’t recognise. The woman looked over her shoulder, pointing at Prometheus, “Hey, Xado, what’s this kitten doing here?”

“That’s the guy I was telling you about,” Xado appeared next to the tall Miqo’te. She barely reached her  _ shoulder _ , “This is Xaiaxu, though he says you can call him Prom. Prom, this is Ahyi. And  _ yes _ , before you ask, she’s a crossbreed.”

“A… crossbreed?” Prometheus repeated slowly. He looked properly at Ahyi, beyond her impressive physique. She looked superficially like a Miqo’te, she had the ears and a short tail along with sharp canines, but everything else… her facial structure was too angular, with a slightly upturned nose discoloured black, giving the impression of a dog’s nose. Her skin was a pale, off-blue, and her hair was thick and wavy, a bluish white down to her shoulders. All in all, Prometheus thought she was a statuesque beauty, though he wasn’t sure what she was mixed with.

“You’ve never seen a Roegadyn before, have you?” Ahyi said, her full lips curving into a grin, “They’re a big people, like me. I took after my Ma a lot, see?”

“Ohh…” Prometheus blinked, “I don’t know what a Roegadyn is.” 

“Wha… really?” Xado blurted, while Ahyi barked out a loud laugh, “Were you living under a  _ rock?” _

“Pretty much,” Prometheus said blithely, tugging his thick towel around him tighter. It was a little chilly in the room too, “I lived in the woods with my Mom. We went to the nearby village once a week to sell hides and stuff, but only Hyurs or Garleans lived there.”

“Wow, you really lived out in the sticks,” Xado muttered, “Well, uh, Roegadyns are one of the biggest people around. They’ve got a bit of a reputation for being rough and rowdy, but most of the Roes in our unit are good people. They’re just, um, loud.” 

Prometheus nodded slowly, logging that away. Roegadyns: rambunctious. Got it. 

“You really are tiny,” Ahyi said, reaching out to poke his forehead. Prometheus leaned back, his ears tilted warily, “Are you sure you’re old enough to be here?”

“I’m sixteen.”

“That’s not old enough,” Ahyi sighed sadly.

“So, the only person you haven’t met yet is Pahto,” Xado said, clearly changing the subject, “She’s on night duty, so you’ll probably meet her at breakfast. She’s a sweet girl, though, she might try to ‘adopt’ you. She has some sort of, big sister complex, it’s weird. Has to mother  _ everything…” _

“I se- se- seee _ eengh...” _ Prometheus yawned, hastily lifting his hand to cover his mouth as he nearly popped his jaw from the force of it. Tears blurred his eyes, and he blinked groggily as he mumbled an apology. 

“Oh, bugger, we should be saying sorry! I forgot you were marched half to death,” Xado said quickly, “Go on, get into bed - and don’t forget to put that potion on your feet!”

Prometheus had a weird feeling like he was being lectured by Sehji, but he shrugged it off as he shuffled to his bed. He was too tired to argue, and he was pleasantly surprised when he found that his bunk now had bedding, immaculately made and ready for him. Wow, these people really were so kind…

It gave him a good feeling. Yeah, Centurio Mateo was creepy, and this whole situation was mildly stressing him out at how _ weird _ it was, but it was so easy to forget about in the face of such  _ kindness. _ Maybe this whole situation wouldn’t be as horrible as he feared. It sounded like it’d be hard work, and have its ups and downs, but with people this kind helping him… it’ll be fun. Like an adventure! Yeah, Prometheus was getting a good feeling! 

He went to sleep with a smile on his face, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

* * *

He woke up abruptly, his entire body tensed like a taut bowstring. For a long moment he simply breathed, unsure what woke him, but some ancient instinct whispered  _ ‘threat, threat, threat’  _ and made him stay, perfectly,  _ still. _

He curled his fingers into the scratchy blanket draped over him, breathing in unfamiliar scents. There was nothing out of place in the room - the two women were here, he could hear one of them snoring, the other breathing heavily - and hear the grinding, humming, groaning of machinery in the close distance. There were no suspicious footsteps, no presence he didn’t recognise in the room, yet still… 

_ ‘Threat, threat, threat’. _

Prometheus cautiously unfurled his soul, as tiny and fragile as it was - he felt Ahyi and Xado, their small, quiet souls, as delicate and soft as a newborn’s. He felt the many little lives breathing and existing in the building, twinkling like stars on the edges of his consciousness. It was pointless, what he was doing. No one would ever hear him, or sense him as he gently passed over each living soul. Only other Amaurotines would sense him, but from what he could tell, as he confirmed when he first remembered who he was in this life, there was no one but him around. 

The building was quiet, yet the unsettled feeling remained, making the Lifestream murky and restless. It was like shifting through silt as he stretched his weakened senses as far as he could, past the confines of the buildi-

From the murk, something oily,  _ monstrous, _ lunged at him with snapping  _ teeth. _

Prometheus locked his soul down so tight he gasped, his arm jerking to throw his blankets over his head as a flimsy shield, trembling right down to his bones as he  _ felt _ that  _ presence _ slither over him, looking, seeking, but passing over him as unimportant after a terrifyingly long moment. All Prometheus could hear in the moment that followed were his short, panting gasps, eyes wide and unseeing. 

He recognised that presence. 

_ He recognised that presence.  _

That oily, sticky feel. Like tar in your throat. Like congealed blood in your mouth. Like ash in your lungs. Prometheus’s fingers spasmed into his blanket, his soul quivering as he kept it quiet, quiet, quiet, as small and newborn and soft as these mortals around him, unimportant, ignore him, ignore him,  _ ignore him please ignore him ignore him… _

The presence slowly retreated, to seep into the background noise of the ambient aether. Prometheus could still  _ feel it, _ like grease clinging to his skin, lurking, silent,  _ there. _ That presence, that he should have… that should be… 

_ Zodiark. _

Not that  _ thing _ in its entirety, but a pawn. Past the oily murk, there was something recognisable glimmering in its core - another… Amaurotine…?

No. No that’s impossible. 

That was… 

Prometheus wavered. Should he open himself up again? Bait that presence just to- just to confirm? But if it was… if it  _ was _ Him, then… then He would know, and, what? He felt far weaker than he remembered but, no, Prometheus couldn’t- he remembered the last time he confronted that creature face to face, remembered feeling its clawing, disgusting fingers dig into the cracks of him, peel him open and peer inside and smear its filth inside-

Calm down. Calm. Down. 

It took a long while, but slowly, eventually, Prometheus’s breathing evened out. He still shook violently, his fingers clenched hard into his blankets as he cowered under them like a child. His mind kept stumbling over that fact, though. Zodiark. Or, a shard of Zodiark? A shard of an Amaurotine, possessed by Zodiark? Driven by Him? Tempered? Or, something else? Something that was disturbingly familiar but, but not Him?

Prometheus didn’t know. 

He firmly, rigidly, locked his soul right down. He can’t take the risk. For as long as he remained uncertain on what that  _ presence _ was, he had to ensure his soul resembled as nothing more than a mere, unimportant mortal’s. Whatever that presence was, it was close by - inside the camp itself. Prometheus was going to stay here for a while, so he’ll… gently probe around, try to find out. 

Because if it  _ was _ Zodiark, then…

Then Prometheus had failed, and if he had failed, then…

What the hell has been happening while he was asleep all these millennia?! 

Needless to say, Prometheus didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He remained awake, staring blankly in the darkness, hiding under his blankets like a child. The night felt so much colder, then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	5. Interlude: Hades I

Wine was dripping onto Hades’s lap. He barely registered it. 

He was frozen, his gaze fixed on the window of his office where he had a _ lovely _ view of the opposite building’s jet black wall. He didn’t even see it, his sight focused beyond the physical, skimming over the pathetic, tiny embers that buzzed around his camp like irritating flies. Weak fragments, barely worth calling souls, unable to snag his attention even when mustering all of their strength- 

Yet, somehow, one of them had _ reached out. _

Hades had _ felt it. _ An agonisingly familiar soul, weak and lonely, mindlessly crying out into the empty quiet that smothered the Source and her shards. Yet, when Hades rushed to meet it, heart bursting with abrupt hope and bewilderment - the soul fled. Cut off. Gone dark. Silent. Indistinct from the little insects. 

Had he imagined it? Had he?

No. No, he hadn’t. 

Hades reluctantly refocused on his physical form, scowling at his window before picking his forgotten wine glass off his lap. His trousers were soaked through and stinking of alcohol. Annoying. 

He twirled the delicate glass stem between his fingers, thinking. That soul… a hundred thousand years could pass, and he’d still recognise it in an instant. They had been two halves for eons, one soul in two bodies until the Sundering split them in fourteen different ways - Hades was _ not _ mistaken. That soul had undoubtedly been _ Prometheus. _

Prometheus. 

Hades tightened his grip on the glass stem, pressing his thumb down hard on it. It had been him but so… _ small. _ Quiet. So weak. So, so weak. A shard? A Prometheus shard? Here? Right under his nose, and Hades hadn’t known until _ now? _ Just _ what _ were the low ranking Ascians _ doing, _ if something like _ that _ slipped into his camp without _ his knowledge?! A _ ** _Prometheus shard was _ ** ** _here and he didn’t know-!?_ **

** _‘Crck’_ **

The glass stem snapped abruptly, the glass biting hard into this vessel’s calloused fingers. Hades barely registered the bite of pain, but the noise stirred him from the maddened frenzy that almost sank into him. He breathed, and each breath was accompanied by the buzzing anger of… Him. 

Zodiark seethed.

Of course. Their greatest enemy had reared his head again. Prometheus. His other half. 

But weak. Just a shard. 

Zodiark settled at that, even as Hades’s heart sunk low. Right. Just a shard. 

He dropped the broken wine glass on his desk in disgust, eyeing the bleeding cuts on the vessel’s hand. How _ troublesome. _ Hades really didn’t want to deal with this, but Elidibus was so insistent on another ‘Empire’ rising up as a driving force for a Calamity, and it was a proven, reliable method, even if _ Hades _ had to do all the heavy lifting for it! Ugh, once he finished with this military coup of his and installed himself as Emperor, he was just going to send his army out to kill everything and then take a decade long nap. 

He deserved it for building this glorious, shining Empire-to-be out of _ nothing. _

Oh, if only Elidibus had let him work with the _ Ishgardians_…! The groundwork was all _ there _ for a theocratic empire, an army prepped and primed and _ brimming _ with murderous potential! He even had a name: the Holy Ishgardian Empire! They could do something _ new, _ instead of Allagan Empire 2.0, a good ol’ rousing religious war to incite humanity to new depraved lows. But, no, instead Hades was uplifting these savages out of the dirt and trying to teach them the basics of a _ combustion engine. _ It was fucking torture. 

Elidibus must be punishing him for something.

Hades picked the glass out of his hand and healed the wounds without a thought, casting his senses out over the camp again. Wherever Prometheus’s shard was, it had gone completely silent. Had Hades frightened it? Perhaps this was the shard’s first time encountering something that could respond, and it became spooked? Hm, problematic, but… not an issue. Hades only had to _ look_. 

He’d recognise that soul’s hue _ anywhere. _

Slowly, Hades felt himself smile, his mercurial mood lifting into something satisfied. That’s right, he only had to _look,_ and with how close that shard had felt, it was definitely on camp. A potential soldier, or, even better, a _conscript. _Something that could be firmly pressed under his thumb, unable to escape or squirm away. A Prometheus shard, one with _potential,_ _finally,_ trapped at his leisure!

Hm. 

You know what? 

Hades had a sudden urge to go and _ inspect the troops. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every so often, i'll do a very short interlude chapter that does other povs. majority of the fic will be from Prom, but i wanna do quick snapshots from other perspectives too (notably the Ascians :3) 
> 
> thank you all who have commented and kudos so far! Honestly, the positive response to this inspired me to keep writing writing writing so hahah thank you! I'm happy you're all enjoying it...!


	6. Falter

Prometheus felt mentally drained by the time morning finally came. 

A dull tension headache was throbbing between his temples when his bed shuddered from Ahyi climbing off the top bunk, every muscle in his body locked up with a raw, primal sort of terror that made it almost impossible to move. But he had to move. It was morning, and he was an insignificant mortal that did not know Zodiark, so there was no reason to be petrified. It was morning, and he was an insignificant mortal that did not know Zodiark, so there was no reason to be petrified. It was morning, and he was an insignificant mortal...

He ran this mantra through his head several times, managing to loosen his frozen limbs up enough to tentatively push back his blanket. The lightstrips embedded in the ceiling were unbearably bright, and he hissed as he squinted, blinking rapidly to adjust to the glare. When his vision cleared, he saw Ahyi and Xado puttering about the room getting ready for the day.

It was like watching a bizarre dance. With how cluttered the floor was, and with how scattered their uniform and armour were, Ahyi and Xado swayed and staggered around each other in very practised movements. They didn’t bump into each other at all, and Prometheus found himself blankly watching them until they were fully dressed in their armour. 

It looked a lot simpler than Centurio Mateo’s, but the quality of it was undeniably high. Jet-black metal that gleamed dully despite the bright light above, with a furred collar. Winter-wear, probably. Beneath the metal plates, Prometheus could see the padded jerkins and furred breeches. 

Xado was scraping her dark hair back into a tight bun when she made eye contact with him, and gave him such a friendly smile it took him off-guard. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she greeted, “You have a good night’s rest?”

“...” Prometheus blinked slowly, before he managed to stir himself to slowly sit up. He felt horrible, and not just physically. At least his feet didn’t hurt as bad as yesterday, “Uh, not… really.” 

“No?” Xado’s face fell, “Oh, was I snoring again? I’m so sorry, I’m trying to fix it…”

“Huh? No, you weren’t snoring,” Prometheus said, “It, uh, I was… um…”

“Homesick?” Ahyi suggested. 

“ _ Yes,” _ Prometheus said quickly, snapping up this excuse like a starving man, “Yes, I was, uh, homesick. Very homesick. Mhm.” 

“Awww…” Xado cooed, “Well, I mean, that’s understandable! I was pretty homesick the first few nights I was here too. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it!”

Prometheus nodded slowly, even as his thoughts went elsewhere. Zodiark’s presence was still buzzing through the ambient aether, like distant white noise. Now that he noticed the ominous feeling,  _ recognised it _ , he struggled to  _ ignore it. _ It was there. Constantly. Like a fish hook stuck under his skin, one he didn’t dare touch lest he made it worse. All he could do was pretend he didn’t notice, pretend to be an insignificant mortal that was blind and deaf, and hope that whatever vessel Zodiark was squatting in stayed  _ far away from him.  _

“-od breakfast will make you feel better,” Xado was saying, and Prometheus guiltily tuned back in, realising he had zoned out, “The scoff here is pretty amazing, and it’s free! I think it’s pancake day today too…”

Ahyi sighed, “Xado, you need to stop eating those. You’re going to make yourself ill with all that sugar you take in.”

“Hey! I’m a growing woman! I need those pancakes to survive!”

Prometheus left them to their friendly banter (argument), discomforted at how it reminded him of… Hades. They’d squabble about silly things like that too, and the hole in his heart that Hades once filled  _ ached _ so sharply it briefly eclipsed the pain of his body. Prometheus clenched his jaw and endured it, grabbing his pack and tipping it upside down to empty it on his bed. Clean clothes. Focus on getting changed. Stop thinking about the past, fool. 

He glanced over at Xado and Ahyi. Hm, actually, was he meant to have a uniform already…?

“Um,” he started, awkwardly interrupting their playful arguing, “Should I have a uniform?”

“What? Oh,” Xado blinked a few times before laughing sheepishly, “Oh, bugger, I totally forgot! Yeah, there’s some spares for newbies in the baggage room. I’ll grab one for you, you’re, what? About five fulms?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Okay,” Xado eyed him, visually sizing him up, before swiftly leaving the room. 

“Are you really okay?”

Prometheus jumped at Ahyi’s blunt question, and he looked at her warily. The tall Miqo’te was scrutinising him intently, her dark eyes pinning him in place. She seemed less spacy than Xado, more observant. Prometheus made a mental note to tread carefully around her. 

“Ah, ahaha, yes, I am!” Prometheus chirped, dragging an anxious hand through his dark hair. His fingers caught on a few snarls, and he awkwardly worked them loose, “I’m just… uh, nervous! This is the first time I’ve been away from home.”

Ahyi’s intense expression softened a fraction. 

“I know it’s scary,” Ahyi said, “I was nervous too when coming here. I won’t mince words either: it’s hard here. We’re treated differently to the Garleans, and they always make sure you know that, but…”

The tall Miqo’te grinned, a warm expression, and gently nudged his shoulder with her knuckles, “We’re all a tight-knit group here! Like our own little Miqo’te tribe. You’ll make lots of friends here, so long as you pull your own weight, and everyone’ll help you out if you start struggling. You can think of us as your big sisters!”

Prometheus blinked, taken aback at such unconditional kindness, “Big sisters?”

Ahyi froze, and, oddly, she started to turn bright red, looking away from him with such abruptness he wondered if he somehow made her angry, “Er, I mean, your big… friends! Big friends!”

“...” Prometheus was so confused, “Oh, okay…?”

They stood in awkward silence for a long minute. 

“So, uh,” Prometheus started, scratching behind his ear, “How-”

“I’m back!” Xado yelled as she barged back into the room, carrying a spare uniform, “These might be a bit too big- whoa, Ahyi, you look like a  _ tomato.” _

Ahyi went stiff before slowly tilting her head towards the ceiling, crossing her arms tight over her chest. 

“...no, I don’t,” she said very quietly. 

“Ufufu, Ahyi said something embarrassing, didn’t she?” Xado sniggered, striding over to Prometheus, “What’d she say?”

Prometheus automatically took the uniform Xado thrust into his arms, glancing over at the stiff-backed Ahyi. Unfortunately, his social skills had not improved in death or in reincarnation, so he found himself a bit uncertain on how to proceed. Ahyi said something very kind to him, so to help Xado tease her felt wrong, but at the same time, friends teased each other a lot, right? But, he only just met them, so could he do that yet…?

Socialising was difficult. With Hades and Hythlodaeus, it had been easy because he had grown up with them. He knew them better than himself, and… and even then, he messed up a lot… 

“She said something kind,” he said simply, “I’m going to get changed now.”

Xado blinked at him, like he said something strange, but Prometheus turned away and focused on getting changed. He felt flustered, but he felt like he hid it well as he yanked the uniform on. It felt a big baggy in some parts, and long in the leg, but he would grow into it soon, he was sure. Overall it felt… fine, if weird. 

It didn’t feel as heavy as he thought it would. In fact, he had a strong suspicion that this armour wasn’t made from plated metal like he initially thought, but some sort of polycarbonate plastic, with a thin layer of kevlar acting as a mesh underneath. This should be  _ decades _ beyond what these people could make, or at least, mass-produced like this uniforms appeared to be. How were they doing this? How were they advancing so quickly, so abruptly, without any in between period of discovery and experimentation? 

He put those maddening questions on the backburner for now and patted himself down before turning around. Ahyi had stopped being red, and Xado was eyeing him thoughtfully. 

Prometheus held out his arms for inspection, “Okay?”

Xado grinned and gave him a thumbs up, “Yup! Ah, well, I mean, it’s obvious you’ve still got some growing to do, but it’s fine! No uniform fits perfectly the first time…”

“We should hurry up before we’re late to breakfast,” Ahyi said, sounding calmer now, “We can introduce him to everyone at the table.”

“Oh, yeah,” Xado snapped her fingers, “Pahto will be there too. You ready to go, Prom?”

“Er, I need to go to the ablutions to wash up still,” Prometheus said. If one thing had carried over powerfully from his days in Amaurot, it was his strong sense of hygiene. Now that he was in a place with hot, running water, he was  _ definitely _ going to take full, relieved advantage of it! 

“Okay, we’ll wait for you at the front. Don’t be too long!” 

“Mm!”

Ahyi and Xado left, and Prometheus stayed still for a few moments, breathing in the silence of the room. 

The moment he left this building, there was a high chance Prometheus would encounter  _ that presence. _ It was unavoidable, no matter how much he wished it otherwise. So, he will need to ensure  _ perfect composure. _ He cannot react, no matter who he saw, what he saw. As far as these ignorant little souls thoughts, there were no gods or monsters walking amongst them. Prometheus was an insignificant mortal, and Zodiark was dead. No matter what happened, he had to live as if this was the absolute truth, no matter what he saw.

Prometheus took a slow bracing breath.

Right. 

Back to pretending. 

* * *

It was still dark outside when their little trio left the block. There were a lot of people outside too, different races Prometheus had never seen before, all clad in the same uniform that did nothing to hide the different individualisms between everyone. Prometheus stayed close to Ahyi’s side, his only reliable landmark in this thick crowd of people, completely missing the amused looks Xado and Ahyi exchanged over his head. 

“So, how you finding this camp, anyways?” Xado asked him, “It’s a lot different to the other town and the city, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Prometheus said distractedly, eyeing a lamp post when they passed it. He critically scrutinised its structure, trying to recognise any styles. It was utilitarian and primitive compared to Amaurot’s artistically designed street lamps, and the lightbulb was offensively inefficient. Even though they discovered electricity, they weren’t very eco-friendly about it, huh? 

Xado followed his gaze to the lamp and mistook his focus for confusion, “You wondering what those are? That’s a ‘street lamp’, according to the Garleans. They say it runs on, uh, electricity and that it works by making a glass ball glow bright enough to see in the dark. It’s some sort of new magic Legatus Galvus discovered.”

“It’s not magic,” Prometheus said before he could stop himself, “It’s basic science.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a filament in the bulb that’s made out of tungsten,” he explained, pointing at where the bulb could clearly be seen in the blocky, ugly lamp head. Whoever designed this had no aesthetic taste, “The filament is really resistant against electricity, so when a current runs through it, this causes friction. Because of this friction, the filament heats up and starts to glow, therefore creating ‘light’. There’s no magic involved whatsoever. It’s the science of energy conversion which occurs all the time in nature, except in this case it’s manipulated for our personal use.” 

There was a long pause, and when Prometheus looked over curiously, he saw Ahyi and Xado staring at him in total bewilderment. 

“Wow…” Xado said faintly, looking a little overwhelmed, “That’s… how’d you know that?”

“...” 

Fuck. 

He  _ forgot _ . He was meant to be some ignorant, brainless country bumpkin. He shouldn’t know how lightbulbs worked. He shouldn’t know the basics of energy conversion. It was just… he couldn’t stand them not knowing something so  _ simple. _ Ah, he was an idiot. A total idiot! He was going to get found out fast if he spouted crap like that to the wrong person! 

“I, um…” Prometheus scrambled for a plausible lie, “T-There was a guy in the village, who knew that kind of stuff. I guess I, um, retained some of what he said.”

“Geeze, you’re a smart kid to retain and understand that!” Xado said, “I barely get it. Friction? I thought electricity was an energy, which is all, you know, whoosh! Like, not physical?”

“But, electricity does glow…” Ahyi said slowly, “In lightning? Electricity is lightning, that’s what the Garleans say, and if lightning glows…”

“So, does lightning have friction then?”

Oh, stars. They’re literal children, Prometheus thought despairingly, physically biting his tongue to stay silent. How do they  _ not know?  _ It’s basic science! A  _ child _ learned this stuff and understood it within minutes! How do they not get it?

Because… 

Because  _ no one taught them. _

Prometheus glanced around him, really taking in this ‘futuristic’ camp. Yeah, it looked modern, but it was cookie cuttered. Everything was duplicated, the lamp posts, the buildings, the uniforms… there was no… there was no innovation about it. It was mimicked, unthinkingly, without understanding, and therefore, no improvements. How can you improve a technology whose science you mistook as magic? You couldn’t. They were imitating something far beyond their understanding. Probably just given the components, or… maybe not?

He thought about how their armour looked mass-produced, despite the advanced materials, and  _ wondered… _

Was it even the Garleans creating these things? If this presence was also an Amaurotine, then they could simply  _ Create  _ automatons to manufacture these things. The Garleans enjoyed the product, and they didn’t even have to know how they were made. They could claim credit for their Creation, and the other races would be ignorant of it, would accept any bullshit explanation they gave about how they functioned.

Many unsettling puzzle pieces were starting to click into place, but it just left Prometheus with more questions. 

If an Amaurotine, or Zodiak, or  _ both, _ were uplifting a young species with technology far beyond their understanding, and  _ manufacturing it for them, _ then… why? Why gear it towards military power? Why strengthen a species Zodiark had  _ planned _ to  _ farm. _ Why?

Prometheus didn’t understand. 

“Hellooo~ Hydaelyn to Prom!” Xado called, gently bonking him on the head, “You in there?”

“Ah! Yes, I-” he paused, processing what Xado just said. Did she just say… she said… “Hydaelyn?”

“Yeah?” Xado gave him an odd look, “You know, this star we live on? You okay there? You spaced out for a long moment.”

The star they… lived on?

The star they lived on was… Hydaelyn? 

But, Hydaelyn was the anti-Zodiark Primal he Created.

Their star’s actual name had been... 

Prometheus had an odd sensation of vertigo, like he’d missed a step on the stairs and his stomach swooped up while his heart dropped. Somehow, his stride didn’t falter, despite his soul stuttering at the abrupt gap its memory hit. 

Their star had been called…?

What?

He couldn’t remember. 

Why couldn’t he remember that basic fact?

Their star had been called…

“Yeah,” Prometheus heard himself say, on auto-pilot, some primal instinct forcing him to act normal even though his entire soul had just spasmed in fearful alarm. Faintly, he felt  _ that presence _ stir curiously. He must have let something slip. Lock yourself down. Insignificant mortal, insignificant mortal, insignificant mortal... 

“I’m just tired,” he finished, the vertigo sensation passing. Normal, normal,  _ normal... _

“You look it,” Ahyi said, and it took so  _ much effort _ for Prometheus to focus, to stuff down the upsurge of panic that very nearly broke past his ribcage, “We’ll get you some strong coffee at breakfast.”

“Hey, don’t turn him into a coffee demon like you!” Xado huffed, reaching past Prometheus to swat at Ahyi’s arm, “That stuff is addictive, and bad for your health.”

“It is  _ not.” _

It was, if drank in large quantities, Prometheus’s mind said, but his mouth didn’t say. It was such a useless piece of trivia. He clung to it, unwilling to process what he just realised, turning his eyes away from the empty chunk in his memory. He didn’t… have the mental energy to deal with that right now. 

(but he couldn’t help but think ‘ _ what else am I forgetting?’ _ )

Coffee. Think about coffee. 

“What kind of coffee do they have here?” Prometheus asked. 

Xado groaned, slumping theatrically, “Oh, not you too…”

“It’s a horrible sort, not made from beans,” Ahyi said, “Some demonic contraption spits it out and it tasted like charred wood, but it’s strong. I recommend using a lot of sugar and milk with it.”

So, instant coffee. Okay. 

“Or, you can have some  _ tea _ like a sane person,” Xado grouched, “It tastes nicer, smells nicer, and is better for you.” 

“It tastes like leaf juice,” Ahyi muttered. 

Xado  _ gasped, _ scandalised, “You…  _ heathen.” _

Prometheus’s gaze slid between Xado and Ahyi as their argument gained steam. It let him stay quiet, to spectate as he tried to regain his equilibrium. Hydaelyn was this star’s name now. Funny, how he hadn’t known that until now. He never had a situation where it was brought up. Never even thought about it. 

But, fine, okay.  _ Okay. _ Not an important detail right now. If Prometheus freaked out about everything  _ wrong _ in this abnormal situation, he might just implode on the spot. First: he is an insignificant mortal, secondly: he needed to confirm Zodiark’s survival, thirdly:  _ find a way to deal with that. _

Everything else can come after. 

Yeah. Okay. 

Right. 

(how did he have so much on his plate already, on his first day here?!)

( _ little did he know, that plate was about to get a lot more crowded _ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hades soon... soON...


	7. Whiplash

“He's  _ adorable!  _ Come here, cutie! _ ” _

“Ah, wait he’s just-  _ ah, Pahto! You’re suffocating him!” _

Prometheus wheezed in bewildered agreement. He barely knew what had just happened. One moment, Xado stopped them outside of the mess hall and called someone over, and the next, a monster descended on him with a terrifying squeal! His attacker’s breastplate crushed hard against his cheek, their arms like steel vices pinning him in place, and their grip unyielding! He could feel his bones creak!

Ah, it was like being hugged by a bear! A  _ bear! _ They were way too strong! 

“You’re so cute, like my little brother back home!” ‘Pahto’s’ gentle, yet  _ scary _ , voice cooed as she swung him from side to side, ignoring Xado’s worried scolding, “Aw, but don’t worry, I’ll be your big sister too! I’ll show you the ropes and beat up anyone who bullies you and do all your laundry! Ah, but first, I need to know your name! What is it, hun?”

“ _ Dead, _ if you don’t let him go, Pahto!” Xado sighed exasperatedly, “Ahyi, don’t just laugh! Help!”

“Oh, pff, he’s fine! But, yeah, Pahto, come on, before you traumatise him.”

“Oh!” 

Abruptly, Prometheus was released from his prison, and he staggered back a step as he gasped for air. Oh, stars, if it hadn’t been for his armour, he might’ve died. He might’ve seriously died! Did he ever say these people were weak and tiny? Because this one certainly wasn’t! 

“Geeze, I knew this would happen…” Xado groaned, tentatively patting him on the back, “Sorry.”

“I’m so sorry! I always forget my strength!” Pahto sniffled, and Prometheus warily lifted up his head to see… a normal Miqo’te woman. She looked deceptively slim, her armour making her appear bulkier than she was, with dark skin and hair tied back into a bun, and pale,  _ pale _ blue eyes. He’d been expecting someone of Ahyi’s stature to crush him into such a punishing chokehold!

“I-It’s fine…” he wheezed, straightening up and shaking his arms out. The blood flow got cut off to his hands… “Uh, um, please don’t squash me again, though.”

“I won’t! My next hugs will be  _ gentle,” _ Pahto promised, swiftly overcoming her tears and clasping her hands on her chest, “It was just, oh, it’s been over a  _ year _ since I saw my little brother, and, a-and you look like him so much, I was just… overcome…”

“Here we go,” Ahyi muttered. 

“Pahto, your ‘little brother’ is almost six foot and built like a brick shithouse,” Xado said flatly, “Prom is  _ way _ cuter than that!”

“Oh, your name is ‘Prom’?” Pahto said, completely ignoring everything else Xado said, “That’s an interesting name! Prom, Prom, Prom… ah, it even slightly matches my name, Pahto! Okay, this must be fate! Fate definitely brought us together!”

Prometheus stared. Then he stared at Xado. Xado stared into the middle distance, looking tired. 

“...yes, fate brought you together,” Xado said dully, “So, please treat Prom kindly, Pahto.”

“Yes!” Pahto flexed her biceps, striking a flamboyant pose, “Have no fear, Xado! I will take my new little brother under my wing! No nasty Garleans will bully him on my watch!”

Ahyi made a soft, amused noise, clapping Prometheus on the shoulder, “Well, there you have it. You have a guard dog even the Garleans fear.”

Garleans feared  _ Pahto? _

“She’s crazy,” Ahyi explained, reading the question in his expression, “Every time they punish her, she just laughs and says it gives her strength, no matter how horrible it is. They just don’t want to deal with her anymore.”

Oh. Well. Okay then. 

“Oh! It’s breakfast!” Pahto gasped, like none of them knew despite standing outside of the mess hall, “We should go inside - you, especially, Prom! Look how skinny you are! You need to eat lots to become big and strong like your big sister!”

“Wha-  _ ah!” _ Prometheus yelped when Pahto  _ picked him up _ like he was a sack of grain and slung him over her shoulder. He was too stunned to react, blinking as Pahto bolted into the mess hall with both Xado and Ahyi on her heels. 

“Pahto!” Xado was yelling, “Pahto! He can walk!  _ Pahto!  _ Stop  _ doing thiiiiiis!” _

Mortals… 

...mortals are totally crazy. 

* * *

But the burst of comical levity didn’t last long. Reality soon reasserted itself. 

After breakfast - where the food really was good and the coffee absolutely terrible - everyone gathered at the parade square just behind the mess hall. Following Xado’s instructions, Prometheus stood in the very middle of the ranks directly behind Ahyi, so any mistakes he made in drill were easier to hide. Everyone was separated into their respective races, the Miqo’te’s squad positioned at the rear of the parade square, with the Garlean troops at the very front. 

Unsurprisingly, the Garleans outnumbered the other races by a ridiculously huge margin. Prometheus estimated that about over sixty per cent of the Legionaries - the lowest rank - were Garlean. He was certain that that ratio only grew further up the ranks you got.

This daily parade, Xado had explained, was used to inform the Legionaries of their duties for that day. Each unit already had a timetable they knew, but they just liked to reinforce it in this parade to polish up their discipline and drill. It was also an easier method to ensure any additional information or announcements got to every single soldier, instead of relying on word of mouth. Xado grumbled that it was redundant, but Prometheus saw the point in it. The Convocation did something similar every month, back in the day. 

It was an event Prometheus relaxed his guard for. He was just standing around for an hour, zoning out while a Garlean droned at him. He could relax and centre himself. After his initial scare and panic from last night and his… spotty memory, Prometheus realised that being paralysed or driven by fear wasn’t going to achieve anything. He needed to reaffirm his determination and nerve, something he felt he was going to have to do repeatedly. 

The situation wasn’t fine, but it wasn’t hopeless. There was an explanation for it, somewhere, and as everyone here wasn’t a mindless thrall to Zodiark, then it stood to reason that Hydaelyn achieved Her mission in  _ some _ capacity, right? He hadn’t  _ completely _ lost, right?

Perhaps it was just a lingering shard, stubbornly pushing on. Perhaps it wasn’t an Amaurotine being possessed at all, and Zodiark was merely imparting advanced knowledge to His hapless vessel. Maybe Prometheus’s mindless fear of Zodiark was contaminating his rationalisation, and this whole situation wasn’t as bad as he assumed. Maybe there was an innocent explanation, and that presence wasn’t Zodiark at all, but something else that unfortunately felt like it. Maybe he was actually safe. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully. 

A  Tesserarius, a Centurio’s second-in-command, took their place before the gathered Legionaries. Their faceless helmet muffled their voice somewhat, but they projected enough for Prometheus to hear well-enough in the back. The Tesserarius’s speech began about how glorious Garlemald was, how advanced they were, how fortunate they all were to be chosen to take part in the rapid growth of their military and blah blah blah  _ blaaaaaah… _

It really was like a Convocation meeting. Prometheus zoned right out. 

Until…

Abruptly, Zodiark’s presence  _ piqued, _ stirring from its dormant, background state as it rapidly began approaching his position. Prometheus went from half-dozing to petrified in a split second, his heart thumping hard in his throat as he stared directly at Ahyi’s back in front of him. It was getting closer… it was getting  _ very _ close… 

Close enough that Prometheus could start  _ sensing  _ past that oily, tar-like presence. It wasn’t a  _ shard _ , it was… like, a coating. A disgusting, rotten shroud that obscured the soul it was clinging to. He couldn’t  _ quite  _ recognise it… he couldn’t, but it felt… it felt… familiar, but, the cloying, black miasma of  _ Zodiark _ blurred the soul’s signature and unless Prometheus unfurled his own soul to clearly see… 

If he was still his Unsundered self, he would’ve recognised it despite Zodiark’s presence muddying the waters. But right now, Prometheus was only at a fraction of his strength, devoid of his powerful Amaurotine magic or senses. All he knew was that this wasn’t Zodiark, but a  _ servant, _ heavily weighed down by His Blessing, and one that was  _ familiar, _ but… one that he couldn’t  _ recognise… _

“Now,” the Tesserarius’s voice filtered in, “High Legatus Galvus will address you all.”

Prometheus’s gaze shifted from Ahyi’s back, just enough to look at the raised podium where the Tesserarius had been speaking from. Legatus Galvus, the man who supposedly discovered all these modern inventions for them. Was he… 

A man stepped up onto the podiu-

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ this is impossible. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ no _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ no no no _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


High Legatus Solus van Galvus stood at the podium. He wore a conservative set of jet-black armour, almost resembling the Convocation robes. His hair was dark brown, save for a silver streak at the front, his eyes a dull gold and… 

Prometheus felt like he’d been plunged into a freezing lake. He tried to draw breath but his lungs were frozen, a tinny, cracked noise choking in his throat. Even from this distance, even after the eons that had passed, even after time blurring his memories, he remembered that face. He remembered it more than he remembered his own, he remembered that face and he  _ remembered _ that soul, whole and blazing and  _ unsundered _ , as intimately as his own, filling the hollow space in his heart as they promised to live out eternity as one soul in two bodies-

Hades. 

Hades was speaking. Prometheus couldn’t hear him over the ringing shrieking in his ears. He was frozen. He was petrified. His soul clenched up tight, realising, he will  _ know, _ the second he laid eyes on him, the second he saw him, Hades will  _ know, _ much like Prometheus knew the moment he laid eyes on him, he will  _ know,  _ which meant  _ Zodiark will know He’ll know- _

As if drawn by his terror, Hades’s eyes slid over the ranks of the gathered soldiers towards him. 

Prometheus should have dropped his gaze. He should’ve fainted. Fuck, he  _ was _ going to faint. He should’ve done  _ anything, _ even if it was to break rank to run away and get shot. But he didn’t do any of that. His legs were shaking too violently to even think of moving.

For slowly. 

Eventually. 

Hades’s gaze landed on him. 

Prometheus trembled right down to his bones. His expression, miraculously, remained blank, even as an overwhelming urge to scream cracked against the inside of his sternum. This was wrong. This was _wrong._ _This was wrong._ How could Hades be here, _unsundered._ Hydaelyn should have, She should have, She should have-!

A pause, a very brief, split second pause. 

Hades smiled  _ (at him),  _ a hot flash of  _ satisfaction _ purring out from him as one, ringing thought filtered into the silent space between them. Recognition, echoed on both sides, and Prometheus found himself leaping so far into terror, he landed squarely into a distant, tranquil calm, his mind going empty. 

Two words, one thought, ringing out between them.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_ found you _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^)


	8. Misstep

Nothing happened. 

The parade ended after a torturously long hour, where Hades talked without really saying anything, playing the part of a man who was deeply in love with the sound of his own voice. All Prometheus could do was stare blankly into the middle distance, absorbing nothing, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, some sense of self-preservation forcibly shutting down any higher brain function before he fully processed Hades’s existence. He couldn’t react. He couldn’t react. He couldn’t react. 

He couldn’t. So, he didn’t. 

Prometheus, instead, thought of a deep, deep, bottomless, frozen well, pitch black inside, impenetrable, letting his soul mimic that form. No matter how much Hades glanced at him, no matter how much Hades’s soul nudged and pulled teasingly at his, he would get nothing but a frozen wall blocking his every attempt at drawing a reaction. Mildly suspicious, maybe, since normal mortals would struggle to achieve that but… it was all he could do right now. The only thing he could do without completely outing himself.

And, nothing happened. 

The parade ended. Hades got bored, clearly, and then it was over. They were marched off the square. People spoke. Xado said something to him. Prometheus responded, not recognising or understanding his own voice. He was on auto-pilot, robotically going through the motions of responding, walking, mimicking mortals, while the entire world passed him by in a fuzzy, distant haze. 

He left the Miqo’te squad at some point - no, he didn’t leave. A Centurio accosted him and marched him off to another squad, a mix-match of different races. He recognised five of them as Garleans from his village. New conscripts. Made sense. 

When the fog finally started to lift, and his mind allowed thoughts that weren’t simple, passive observations, Prometheus found himself standing outside of a building in the freezing cold with the rest of the Conscripts. There were around twelve of them in total, five Garleans, himself, and a mix-match of Hyurs and two other races he didn’t recognise. Everyone was standing in their own little cliques, quietly talking to each other while waiting for something, but he was alone, standing and staring vacantly at the wall. 

Hm. 

They probably thought he was weird. 

Prometheus didn’t feel anything in regards to that, though. Why should he care what a bunch of mortals thought about him? Hades was here-  _ Hades was here- _ Zodiark- He was  _ here- _

His mind flattened again, the thoughts cutting off. His soul felt. Strained. Straining. He still had it crushed and locked down, but it was  _ straining. _ There was an abrupt, wild urge to start screaming, one that he swallowed down with agonising difficulty. His soul kept straining. It wanted to- to- to- to- to-

“Alright, Conscripts,” an unfamiliar Centurio stepped out of the building, snapping Prometheus out of a spiral where the air had started to feel thin, “The quartermaster is ready for you. Get in an orderly line to collect your issued kit! Prepare to wait a long while.”

Everyone started lining up outside the building’s doors, and after a long, sluggish pause he joined the very end of it. This whole situation was fucking surreal. Issued kit? Why did he even care about that right now? 

This whole situation was fucking absurd. 

These people just, walking around normally. Acting like nothing was horrifically wrong. Their High Legatus was an Amaurotine. A  _ Tempered _ Amaurotine. A  _ servant _ of Zodiark. He could kill everyone in this camp just by a snap of his fingers. Yet, instead, Hades was playing mortal, in a role that made his personality nigh unrecognisable. Hades despised public speaking, yet High Legatus Galvus had loved it. 

A good orator. Still talked too much. Arrogant. Pompous. 

But. Undeniably Hades. 

It didn’t process. Prometheus couldn’t process it. 

Hades ‘discovered’ Ceruleum. He ‘discovered’ this technology. Why? What use-

Zodiark, how was he- 

Why did Hydaelyn fail-

How was… what can he even do right now?

_ That _ was the thought that made Prometheus feel sick. What can he do, right now? Nothing. 

He was a mortal, a lowly, insignificant mortal, who, despite his intact memories, was about as powerful as a useless Miqo’te  _ child _ . He had no Creation magic. He had  _ nothing, _ but this fragile, weak body that could die in a thousand different ways. This body wasn’t special. It wasn’t especially powerful, he wasn’t particularly skilled at fighting in the way mortals fought, and what magic he could wrangle was severely hampered by a mortal’s weak constitution. 

He could, potentially, summon the back up Hydaelyn but, his soul had no substance, no strength for it. Unless he was willing to sacrifice a million lives for it, his failsafe wasn’t possible. He… he had  _ nothing. _

He couldn’t do anything. 

He was useless. 

Useless. 

There was… something oddly comforting about it, just as despairing. He was useless and couldn’t do anything. The situation with Zodiark was  _ entirely out of his hands. _ This whole thing was out of his control entirely. Hades recognised him, which meant Zodiark recognised him, so all Prometheus can do now is wait and see what would happen from it. 

He was Sundered, so they would assume he wouldn’t have his memories. After all, not even Prometheus knew why his memories were intact. They should have been scattered throughout the Lifestream to slowly fade the moment his soul was shattered. So, what? What was Hades’s point, there? Did he just want to  _ check? _ Had he done that with Prometheus’s other shards?  _ Did _ he do that with his other shards?

He felt ill. If Hades  _ did _ actively hunt down his shards, what did he do to them? 

What will he do to  _ him _ …?

And even more chilling, if  _ Hades _ was here, then… that meant the others might also be… 

Prometheus shivered, hugging himself.

If the others were here, then there was a fate worse than death waiting for him. 

* * *

Prometheus was still alive and unmolested by the time he was issued his kit.

Honestly. The wait was killing him.

But waiting was all he could do. After being issued his kit and forced to sign some papers where he agreed to be billed for any damages or loss, Prometheus was then told that he, along with the other Conscripts, were to formalise their citizenship application. C onsidering how non-consensual conscription was, it surprised him to find that there was a lot of bureaucracy to wade through to legitimise his state-sanctioned kidnapping. After given time to dump their issued kit in their rooms and to reform outside of the quartermaster's, they were then marched to the opposite side of camp (a lengthy, long, dull march) to an ugly, squat building called the Bureau of Administration. The familiarity of the name almost gave Prometheus a fit.

The Garlean conscripts were taken away immediately, following a different citizenship process to the ‘other races’. What followed was a mind-numbingly boring torture session that gave Prometheus flashbacks to when he had to audit the Acadaemia’s research proposals. Forms upon forms upon forms upon forms, asking for information duplicated tens of times across these stacks of papers.  Where was he born? Who were his immediate family? Can he trace any of his lineage to a Garlean family? What were his skills? His strengths? Weaknesses? What level of fitness would he put himself at? Did he know any martial arts? Swordplay? Magic? Did he attend school? If not, can he read, write? Can he do mathematics? Science? Prove it. Fill out these tests. 

It was dull. 

But, dull was good. Prometheus didn’t want to think right now, not with this sword of doom dangling so close to this neck. He didn’t want to think how, at any moment, 'High Legatus Galvus' could order his goons to collect him and do… whatever it was he planned. The waiting was agonising, the knowledge that inevitably,  _ at some point, _ they were going to come for him. He wanted it over with already. He  _ didn’t _ want it over with. He didn’t know what he wanted, so he didn’t think about it and just waited. 

And filled out these painfully boring tests. Basic mathematics and literacy, with a bit of science and magical theory thrown in. Prometheus completed them in little under than twenty minutes, limited only by the speed which he could write his answers, then spent the next forty five minutes staring blankly at his desk while his fellow Conscripts struggled and frowned and hummed over questions so simple an Amaurotine toddler could have answered them. 

...

...

...

...

Prometheus wondered what would happen if he stabbed himself in the carotid artery with the pen. Would that piss Hades off. It would probably piss him off. Maybe he should do it. 

( _ he didn’t do it. he was such a coward) _

Eventually, their tests were collected and they were told to wait. They did so - some of the other Conscripts tried speaking to him. Prometheus didn’t recognise what races they were, and tried to - he tried to, to socialise, but, there wasn’t enough space in his brain to follow the conversation. People spoke, and his mind would wander, churning and gnawing over his horrible, shitty situation, and slowly, people just stopped speaking to him, leaving him to brood in uneasy silence. 

Then, something odd happened. 

“Conscript Xaiaxu,” the Notarius, a public official in charge of military education, stuck his head into the room they were all waiting in, “Come here, please.”

Prometheus obeyed, ignoring the curious looks shot his way as he ambled over to the Notarius. Despite his lackadaisical movements, his heart was abruptly in his throat, wondering if this was it, if this was really  _ it. _

But, instead, the Notarius (whose name escaped him) led him out the room and down a narrow corridor into some kind of office. An unknown Centurio was waiting in there. He didn't feel like Hades, so Prometheus relaxed only a fraction.

Given no direction when the Notarius sat at his desk, with the Centurio staring at him from the corner, Prometheus stood at parade rest in the centre of the room. There was a quiet ringing in his ears, trying not to let his anxiety show. Calm. Wait. 

“These are your test papers,” the Notarius said, holding the stack of papers up. Prometheus could see his neat, printed handwriting on them, “Do you know what’s wrong with them?”

Oh, were Prometheus's nerves so shot he catastrophically failed them? He felt a bizarre bubble of hysterical mirth at the thought. Him, so out of sorts, he failed a test for technologically primitive mortals. He glanced at the Centurio, who was just watching him intently from behind his helmet, then at the Notarius who was giving him a very disapproving look. 

“... did I score badly?” Prometheus asked. 

“No,” the Notarius pursed his lips, “Every single answer was correct.”

Oh. 

“I see,” he said, honestly confused. Was that bad?

The Notarius sighed aggravatedly, “If you were going to cheat, you shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”

…

What. 

“Cheat,” Prometheus repeated. 

“In your citizenship application,” the Notarius began in a very snootish tone, “You stated you never had a formal education. You were, and I quote ‘home-schooled’, yet you listed your mother as a  _ hunter. _ Tell me, how would a hunter know the details of advanced physics and mathematics, or  _ thermodynamic cycles?” _

Ah. 

_ Ah. _

“I never said my mother taught me,” Prometheus said dully, grasping for the first, shitty lie that he thought of, “I taught myself. From books.”

“ _ You _ ,” the Notarius coughed, “You taught  _ yourself _ .”

“Mm…” Prometheus shrugged. Honestly, he was beyond caring now. Why bother hiding his abnormal knowledge if Hades was going to snatch him up in a day or two? “If you don’t believe me, ask me a question not on the test. I’ll answer correctly.”

The Notarius didn’t seem to know what to say to that. There was an awkward pause where he glanced at the test papers in his hands, then at the Centurio, then at Prometheus. Then, abruptly, the Centurio stepped forwards, resting a gloved hand against the desk. 

“Conscript Xaiaxu,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice, “Explain what a Carnot cycle is.”

Prometheus eyed him for a long moment, long enough that the Notarius started to look a bit smug - no doubt thinking him incapable of answering - when Prometheus decided to just bite the bullet. Fuck it. Fuck this. 

“The Carnot Cycle is a heat engine cycle. It consists of two isothermal processes and two adiabatic processes. It’s thought to be the most efficient heat engine cycle allowed by physical law, and-”

“That’ll do,” the Centurio interrupted, learning back with a decisively smug air, “Those must’ve been some advanced books you read, Conscript Xaiaxu.”

Prometheus huffed softly, “My mom was keen to get me educated. She was going to send me to Sharlayan.” 

“I can see why,” the Centurio murmured, and turned to the bewildered Notarius, “As I said, it seems we don’t have a cheater, but a valuable  _ asset _ on hand.”

“But- he’s a…” the Notarius held his tongue at the last minute, but Prometheus understood what he was implying, “He’s not even a  _ citizen.” _

“But he’s applying for a citizenship, so he’ll be one  _ eventually, _ ” the Centurio said, “Look, I don’t care if he’s a Cat, a midget, or a  _ moogle.  _ High Legatus Galvus’s orders were clear-”

Prometheus felt like he was doused with freezing cold water, an awful realisation rearing up in him. 

Shit.

“-anyone who is capable of understanding the science necessary for Magitek development is to be trained as an engineer. He didn’t specify  _ race,  _ and, honestly, I doubt he’d care.”

Oh,  _ shit. _

“And this Cat is  _ perfect! _ Do you know how many Conscripts, or  _ willing volunteers, _ knew about the Carnot Cycle? Two.  _ Two _ out of hundreds!”

“But they were Garlean-!”

“It doesn’t matter. No, I’ve already decided. He’s joining the engineers.”

Shit shit  _ shit. _

The Notarius threw up his hands, looking exasperated, “Oh,  _ fine! _ But if the High Legatus gets angry at a… a non-citizen joining…”

“He won’t,” the Centurio said, sounding deeply amused as they turned back to Prometheus, “Keep an eye out for me in the next few days, Conscript Xaiaxu. You’ll be joining a different career path to the rest of your fellow Cats, one that’ll put that smart mind of yours to good use.”

“Oh,” Prometheus said, sounding very faint, “I see.”

Why did… why did he feel like he just blindly stepped into a trap of some sort? 

Fuck. 

He should’ve stabbed his carotid artery out. 


	9. Chill

Prometheus returned to the Miqo’te barracks in a daze. 

It was close to early evening at that point, the street lights shining a cold, lonely route back. Not many people were out now, as a freezing cold rain, bordering on sleet, had started to come down hard enough to coat the tarmac in a thin, silver haze. By the time reached the barracks he was soaked through, the furred collar of his armour stinking like wet dog and the thick gambeson underneath absorbing the icy rain like a sponge. 

His teeth were chattering despite his best efforts to clench his jaw still, and his fingers were numb as he fumbled with the barracks’ door. Inside wasn’t much warmer than outside - right, no central heating - and he stood there for a long moment, a tiny puddle forming around his boots as rainwater dripped off his sodden armour. 

Prometheus shivered.

He should probably go for a hot shower, or a bath, if they had one. Thaw his frozen body out before he succumbed to illness or something. His motivation was low, though, and he slowly shuffled towards the section where his room was, feeling oddly disconnected from everything, including his shuddering, half-frozen body. 

He was burned out. He didn’t even feel terrified or stressed anymore. There was a biological reason for it, maybe? Prometheus didn’t have the blueprints for the Miqo’te species, and he hadn’t yet found a medical paper on their physiology, but if he assumed they were built similarly to humans, then there was an emotional limit that could be reached. Also, potential for health problems if this continued for a long period of time, with excessive cortisol being released in response to stressors.

Hm, what was the impact for that again? Damage to the hippocampus, reduced bone formation, insomnia, weakened immune system… probably more things. Stress was an insidious killer for mortals, after all. 

Prometheus felt a dull flare of dark humour at that. This camp had no shortage of insidious killers, hah. 

He reached his corridor, the air only slightly warmer here. He stiffly flexed his numb fingers, his ears perking at the sound of life drifting through the thin doors. He met quite a lot of the Miqo’te at breakfast that morning, who had accepted his presence with overwhelming friendliness, and guiltily he realised that outside of his roommates, he remembered none of their names. He didn’t have time to commit them all to memory, after Hades-

Nope. Not thinking on that. 

Prometheus exhaled shakily, shivering from something other than cold, and finished the last few strides to his room. He managed to coordinate his frozen hands enough to open the door, half-staggering inside into a room so roasting hot the sharp shift in temperature made him wobble dizzily, his vision briefly going a little spotty. 

“Prom’s back!” Pahto’s voice called out, and before he could blink, he was swept up in a tight hug. Thankfully not a _ rib crushing _one, though he still grunted in surprise. 

“Oh, you’re soaked!” Pahto quickly released him, her hands resting on his armoured shoulders as she leaned back to scrutinise him, “And cold! Your lips are practically blue!”

They were not _ blue. _Just, pale from lack of blood flow, “I’m okay. I just need to-”

“Have a hot bath,” Pahto said firmly, nodding. Prometheus glanced past her, tiredly realising that it was just them in the room. No rescue from Ahyi or Xado, it seemed, “You’re frozen stiff - and tiny! Look, barely any fat on you to help you stay cosy! Ah, but don’t worry, your big sister will warm you right up!” 

“Um,” Prometheus leaned back warily, “T-That’s okay, I can-”

“Aw, don’t be fussy. Look, look, I’ll run you a hot bath and,” she leaned in, whispering playfully, “I’ll let you use my _ contraband bubble bath _.”

Prometheus stared.

“You- bubble bath is banned?” he blurted incredulously.

“Yes,” Pahto said solemnly, “It’s banned. The Garleans only issue out this horrible, greasy kinda soap that makes your fur all ugly dull. But, don’t worry! Pahto has all the soap anyone ever needs for beautiful fur and hair! Your big sis will _ definitely _ keep you looking cute, Prom!”

While Prometheus puzzled over how bubble bath could be illegal in this strange, awful place, Pahto took advantage of his distraction to grab him by the elbow and steer him back out into the chilly corridor. He shuddered violently, his armour rattling comically, but Pahto didn’t comment on it. 

“Now, this bubble bath is special,” Pahto said, “It’s actually what my little brother sent me! He’s a herbalist, you see, and really good! He makes potions, and tonics, and especially soaps, and this one is-”

Prometheus tuned her out, blinking tiredly as he was dragged in the ablutions. The room was quite spacious and split into three sections - to the far left was where the showers were (he could hear one running, obviously in use), in the middle were the toilets with the capacity to flush (thank you, indoor plumbing) and to the far right, a tiny room with one bathtub inside. It was a very well loved bathtub, expertly cleaned with gleaming taps. 

“So, there’s some rules with this,” Pahto said, “If you use it, you clean it spotless! It’s our only bath, and it is _ amazing, _ so we need to take care of it. Fair, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Prometheus said, “That’s fair.”

“Good! Okay, you strip off while I’ll fill the bath.”

Prometheus did so, not bothered about decency. Pahto _ obviously _ had no interest in him _ like that, _ and he was too tired to feel body shy. He shed his wet armour, peeling off the soaked jerkin and breeches with a disgusted grunt, and eventually shed his slightly damp underwear as well. 

The room with the bath was so small there wasn’t anywhere to put his armour down neatly, so he held it close to his chest, shivering as Pahto straightened up from the bath. Water was flowing hot and fast from the gleaming taps, steam spiralling up towards the ceiling.

“Thank you, I’ll take those!” Pahto said cheerily, taking his armour before he could protest, “I’ll get these nice and dry while you defrost, okay?”

“Uh, sure,” Prometheus said, feeling oddly guilty even though Pahto was doing this of her own accord. He hadn’t done anything to deserve such kindness - she only just met him today! “But, you don’t have to. I mean, you were relaxing before, and-”

“It’s okay,” Pahto said, “I like looking after people, especially if they need help like you.”

Prometheus paused, giving her an uncertain look. Pahto was smiling at him still, but it was softer and gentler than her cheerful grin from before.

“The nose doesn’t lie,” she continued, juggling with her armful of armour to tap her nose, “You smell _ very _ stressed out, and that just won’t do! Running you a bath, drying out your clothes, it’s an easy thing for me to do to ease your stress just that little bit!”

“Oh,” Prometheus wasn’t sure what to say to that. She could _ smell _ his stress? He knew Miqo’te had a powerful sense of smell, but to that extent…? 

“And if you wanna talk, I’ll be here too,” Pahto said easily, “It doesn’t have to be about what’s stressing you out. It could be about anything! Like, oh let me think… the rain! Or where the nice flower patch grows in the corner of camp…”

“Flowers grow here?”

“Oh, yes! They’re very pretty! I’ll show you sometime,” Pahto said, “Do you like flowers, Prom?”

Prometheus didn’t immediately answer. For some reason, he had an abrupt memory of when he was a child, Hythlodaeus painstakingly trying to teach him and Hades how to manually make flower crowns. Hades had been terrible at it and just ended up Creating a complete flower crown out of frustration, which Prometheus had declared as cheating and… 

The memory cut like a knife between his ribs - too deep to be painful, but fatal all the same. 

“...yes,” he said very quietly, his throat oddly tight, “Um, but, I think I should… go in the bath now. To. Thaw out.”

Pahto was giving him an knowing look, her smile gaining a sympathetic edge. 

“Mhm. You should,” she said, “Take your time! Your big sis has _ everything _ in hand!”

Laughing quietly to herself, clearly pleased, Pahto left the little bathroom. Prometheus closed the door after her and then climbed into the bath. The water was pleasantly warm, and he silently sunk into it, reaching over to turn off the taps. The water was up to his ribs, which was deep enough. 

There was a small, pink bottle on the edge of the bathtub, with ‘PAHTO’ scrawled in messy writing on its side. The bubble bath she promised, maybe? Weird, Prometheus hadn’t seen her put it down, but, then again, he’d been distracted….

He curiously picked up the bottle, tugging out the cork sealing it shut. A calming, subtle smell wafted from the sticky liquid within, and Prometheus tipped a little bit out into the water. Pink swirled, and when he stirred it up with his hand, it immediately started frothing up into a flowery scented foam, his fingers tingling slightly from where it touched. 

Hm. 

A few minutes later, the bath was almost overflowing with pleasant smelling bubbles, the bottle set aside and Prometheus slouched low enough that he was in real danger of drowning if he dozed off. Pahto’s brother must’ve put _ something _ in that bubble bath because Prometheus felt unnaturally loose-limbed and chilled out, despite suffering from The Worst Day Ever. 

…

…

…

Did Pahto drug him?

…

…

…

Pahto definitely drugged him. 

But, he supposed she drugged him with good (?) intentions. Or, maybe _ unintentionally? _ The effects were kinda mild, to be honest, even if it left his thoughts a little fogged and slow. If she regularly bathed in this, she probably didn’t even notice the effects due to built up immunity. But on him? Oh, wow, Prometheus couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this relaxed. 

Wait, yes, he could. Last week, before he was kidnapped by the army. 

Hmmmmm… 

Prometheus kind of wished he could go back to that week. He was so isolated in those woods, so ignorant of the state of this world. It would’ve been easier, to just, continue ignoring things. He could keep pretending that he fulfilled his duty and reward himself with a mundane, easy life. He deserved that, didn’t he? Just… a life that isn’t full of pain. 

He’s so sick of being… sad and suffering for something. Suffer for Amaurot. Suffer for Hades and Hythlodaeus. Suffer for the world. Suffer for Hydaelyn. Now, suffer for… what? What was he to endure this time? Suffer for Zodiark? Suffer for the mortals? Suffer for… no reason?

Prometheus sighed, watching a few bubbles rise up from his heavy exhale, his eyes heavy-lidded. 

The easy way out would be to just die. He could shed this body and flee into the Lifestream to be reborn. But, there was no guarantee he’d retain his memories next time, and Zodiark and his servants could continue their plans unhindered in that case, whatever they may be. Prometheus was useless, but he was also the only other person who had any inkling of what threat they posed. So, to die now would be to run away like a coward, abandoning his responsibilities and duties once again. 

Prometheus gripped the edge of the bath, forcing himself to sit up a little higher, despite the weakness in his limbs. 

No, no, the only path left for him was forwards, into the unknown. Tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that, Prometheus would have no choice but to blindly walk into the trap he stupidly blundered into, and see what Hades had planned for him. Who knows, maybe going into the Engineering Corps might offer him an opportunity to figure things out, learn what is _ actually happening, _ on account of being uncomfortably closer to Hades _ . _

Anyways, it isn’t certain that Hades knows it’s _ him _ him. He knows he’s a Prometheus shard, and his soul was tiny and clearly Sundered, so to assume he was him, full memories intact… well, he kind of showed his hand in knowing more than he should, but, maybe he could… try to pretend… maybe, only some memories? About technology and knowledge… maybe...

Prometheus’s head nodded, his eyelids drooping, and he grunted, sliding back down into the water. Ugh, he’ll think on it later. He was too… tired to really… stress out over this… thing. 

Seriously, though. He needed to find out what the hell Pahto’s brother put in her bubble bath. This shit was… stronger than he initially thought. It helped keep him calm as he worked through his thoughts at least. His emotions were _ chiiiiilled, _ and he felt okay and kinda flat, feelings wise. It was a calm state to be in. A sleepy state, though. He was really sleepy, and he didn’t sleep last night, so maybe… 

… a few minutes… 

…

* * *

Pahto returned in the nick of time to fish him out of the bath before he drowned - not that he realised that. He was flat out asleep from the ablutions all the way to his bed, not stirring once despite Pahto’s carrying him around like a sack of potatoes and practically tossing him into his bed. 

He’d need that sleep though, considering what tomorrow will bring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so djog on twitter drew [an amazing comic](https://twitter.com/dj_oghurt/status/1170767699028447233) with Hades and Prometheus in it, I highly recommend giving it a read it's so good...!!
> 
> Also, I forgot to mention, this whole fic is a sloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow burn, so slow. Also I fiddle with the timeline in the next few chapters /cough
> 
> AND thank you everyone who has commented/kudos so far! your replies and encouragement is what keeps me going :3 thank you so much for reading...!


	10. Interlude: Xado I

“I can’t believe you drugged our  _ underaged roommate _ .”

“But, he really needed it,” Pahto said simply, not moved by Xado’s open disapproval. She was neatly laying out Prom’s armour under their makeshift ‘heater’ in the utility room’s wash bench. Their heater was a collection of fire crystals strapped to a sheet of curved metal, powered by one of the Conjurer girls popping in every so often to excite the crystals into activity. It was incredibly unsafe if left unattended, but it also meant their clothes dried, instead of freezing solid in this icebox of a room.

“That’s not the  _ point,” _ Xado groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Did you tell him what was in your ‘bubble bath’?”

“Hmmm… maybe?” Pahto cocked her head, tapping her bottom lip thoughtfully, “Or, maybe not? Eheh, I can’t remember!”

Xado’s eye twitched. 

Now, don’t get her wrong. She  _ liked _ Pahto. She was sweet, kind and always ready to lend a hand. She was also a fucking  _ beast, _ which helped when some snobby Garleans or rowdy Roegadyns decided to get grabby. Her slim hands could snap wrists like they were twigs and even the Centurios were leery of pissing her off. 

But, Pahto also operated on some  _ alien logic _ incomprehensible to normal people, which made her a nightmare to deal with sometimes. It was  _ probably _ because she was from the southern swamplands, deeper into Ilsaberd, where those weirdo Keeper clans lived in a place uninhabitable to most normal people. Xado heard all kinds of tales about them, how they regularly poisoned their kids to make them immune to the venomous swamp creatures, or practiced some dark arts to curse people, things like that. She knew some of those tales were exaggerations, but meeting Pahto made her wonder if there was some kernel of truth there. 

“Please, don’t do that again,” Xado sighed, “At least, not without asking his permission first. You don’t wanna scare off the  _ only _ guy we have here!”

“But, he’s already scared,” Pahto said, as reasonably as if she was discussing the weather, “ _ Very _ scared. My bubble bath helped a little, at least. Did you see how cute he looks while sleeping? His nose scrunches up a lil’ when he snores…”

“He’s scared?” Xado muttered, easily filtering out Pahto’s ramblings of cuteness. Prom did seem very quiet and reserved on first meeting, but that was because he was shy and homesick, right? 

“He smells stressed,” Pahto said, tapping her nose, “And he reminds me of an agitated swamp viper! The way he is all- ah,  _ coiled, _ and tense, like he’ll bite you if you so much as touch him wrong! It makes me so sad to see him like that...” 

“Uh,” Xado gave Pahto an uncertain look, “I think he’s just shy.”

“No,” Pahto said, her tone dropping into something flat and abrupt, “He’s not shy. He’s  _ frightened _ .”

Oh, wow, okay. Xado lifted her hands, recognising when Pahto’s overprotective temper was flaring, “Okay! Okay, but, I mean, can you blame him? He’s been basically kidnapped and told he’s in the army now. He’s just a kid, so, he’s probably just wanting his Mom or something.”

“Someone’s bullying him,” Pahto said decisively, pressing her hands against her hips with a deep frown, “My big sister instincts are telling me someone is tormenting my cute little brother! I don’t know who, but someone is!”

“He’s been here for a  _ day,” _ Xado said exasperatedly, “Who’d have the opportunity to bully him?” 

“That’s what I’m going to find out!” Pahto declared, flexing her biceps threateningly, “And when I do, I’ll teach them that bullying is wrong!”

“Even if they’re the Legatus?” Xado asked dryly.

“Even if they’re the Legatus!”

Xado shook her head, unable to hold back an amused grin. Right, she’d love to see  _ that. _ Pahto was freakishly strong, but High Legatus Galvus was like - super  _ Godly _ in comparison. He was only twenty seven and  _ already _ a High Legatus after joining the military as a basic foot soldier. To have such a meteoric rise in the Garlean army you either have to be amazingly powerful, or an amazingly good fuck.

“Right, well, back to my earlier point,” Xado said, “Don’t drug Prom without his consent again, okay? He’s probably gonna wake up all confused and groggy after inhaling all that Cloudcrawler, and get all upset. You don’t wanna upset your new lil’ bro, do you?”

Pahto slumped a little, “Well, no, but… oh, fine. I’ll tell him before I drug him again.”

Not… quite what Xado said, but she’ll take it for now. She could only hope Prom wasn’t freaked out by what happened when he woke up. Twelve knows she’d been horribly disconcerted the first time Pahto ‘helped’ her by spiking her drink with Cloudcrawler to make her relax after a… particularly traumatising day. Xado had the benefit of actually  _ knowing _ Pahto for a few months when that happened too, Prom only knew her for a day! 

Ugh, he’s definitely gonna freak out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i can't hold all these OCs i keep making and falling in love with arghghghghghggh 
> 
> next chapter: more OCs, Prom continuing to dig his grave ever deeper, also the timeline being turned into a pretzel somewhat


	11. Pain

The next morning brought a different pain to Prometheus’s door. 

After waking up to a horrendous hangover from  _ whatever the hell _ Pahto drugged him with, he had gotten a very chastised apology from her and was then dragged to breakfast. After spending most of that getting forcefed enough bread and coffee to be somewhat lucid during the parade, Prometheus was shepherded off with the other new recruits for a very specific torture session: 

Fitness tests. 

And the Centurio overseeing these tests?

“You can do better than that, Cat!”

_ Mateo. _

Prometheus grunted breathlessly, his arms shaking when Centurio Mateo planted his boot firmly between his shoulder blades and forced him down into another press up, barking ‘UP’ the moment his chest hit the floor. Through gritted teeth, Prometheus forced himself up, sweat dripping onto the cold, metal floor under him. 

Unlike with the forced march, he was struggling with this - badly. While aether could give him stamina and strength, it had its limits. He had burned up quite a lot of it during the forced march here, and while yesterday had ‘recharged’ him somewhat, his body was still wrecked, and no amount of aether manipulation could change that. So, it meant that he was forced to rely on his own natural strength (which was beyond lacking), with only some minor enhancement from his aether. 

As a result, Centurio Mateo was personally insulted at Prometheus’s subpar performance - and he wasn’t shy at letting him know about it. 

“Come on! Again!” Centurio Mateo barked, stomping the heel of his boot right into his spine. Prometheus shakily went back down, “What happened to the Cat able to march for three days straight without rest, hm? You’ve only done  _ forty _ press ups, and you need  _ seventy  _ to pass. Come on!”

Prometheus hissed between his teeth, pushing himself up. In the corner of his eye, he could see one of the Garlean recruits smoothly doing press ups without much effort. He felt a spike of envy. 

“Again!”

This went on for a while. 

After getting thoroughly thrashed by press ups and sit ups and all other kind of ‘ups’, they moved onto the next torture session: running with weight. 

“You need to be able to run  _ at least _ eight malms with full kit,” Centurio Mateo told them, as the recruits nervously eyed the bulging backpacks set aside for them, “The weight is dependant on your role, to reflect what you’ll be expected to carry. For example, the Engineers will carry a different weight to common infantry - which is relevant, as I believe one of you has been assigned to join that Corps yesterday."

Prometheus’s gut twisted. Did this mean he carried a lighter weight? A heavier one? He anxiously glanced at Centurio Mateo, who seemed to give off a malicious type of glee despite his helmet hiding his face. 

“Cat,” Centurio Mateo practically purred, “As a  _ potential _ Combat Engineer, you will need to carry considerably more than your comrades. On average, everyone carries forty-four ponze.  _ You _ will carry  _ sixty-six _ ponze.”

Prometheus barely swallowed down the urge to cry at that.  _ Sixty-six… _

“Alright! Grab your packs!” Centurio Mateo barked, “Your names are on them! Hop to it!”

Everyone hopped to it. 

Prometheus barely managed to heave his pack onto his back, it was that heavy on his already sore arms. It was all dead weight and shoddily packed, considering the weight leant heavier on one side, making it lopsided. The straps were too loose, no matter how much he tightened them, clearly made for someone longer in the torso (like a Garlean). How did Centurio Mateo expect him to finish the test with this ill-fitting burden?! 

"Form up! Three ranks!" Centurio Mateo barked, pointing aggressively at Prometheus when he tried to slink to the back of the group and out of sight, "Cat! You're at the front!"

Fuck.

Prometheus shuffled up front, trying to ignore the sore ache in his body. His feet were hurting again too, half-healed blisters twinging from anticipation for the coming pain. Prometheus took a deep breath, letting his exhausted aether cycle through him, to give him an energy boost. Just eight malms. Just eight malms. Just eight malms…

"The pass time is one hour and forty minutes," Centurio Mateo said, "If you stay with the squad, you'll pass. If you  _ don't,  _ you fail, and will have to retest the next week, and the week after that, and so on, until you pass."

Centurio Mateo took a moment to soak up the dreaded silence from the gathered recruits.

"Let that be your incentive," Centurio Mateo said with mock-sweetness.

Prometheus swallowed thickly, cringing when Centurio Mateo clapped his shoulder and lent in to mutter quietly, "Don't disappoint me, Cat."

_ Fuck _ .

* * *

Four malms in and Prometheus discovered that enough physical exertion caused stress-induced vomiting.

The rest of the squad continued on their shuffling jog as he retched and heaved up his breakfast into a nearby bush. He felt like he was going to die, his lungs wheezing with each burning inhale, his legs shaking and his armour sodden with sweat as his vision greyed out near the edges.

He was at his limit.

His aether was so low - so  _ little _ compared to what he had as an Amaurotine. It also recovered a lot more slowly, and he despaired over how his reserves were still almost dry from the forced march two days previous. How did these people cope? How did the  _ Garleans  _ cope!? Without aether, how could they achieve these physical feats of endurance and strength?!

But, Prometheus wasn't the type to give up when he hit a wall. Sucking in a deep breath and wiping at his mouth, he shakily straightened up and jogged after the group, his empty stomach cramping hard enough to hurt. It took him a bit, but he  _ somehow _ managed to catch up and stagger into his previous place at the front with all the grace of an unsteady drunkard.

_ "Good," _ Centurio Mateo praised, clapping him on the shoulder and almost knocking him clear off his feet, "That's the grit I was looking for!"

_ "Ngh,"  _ Prometheus replied, fighting down the urge to dry heave. He was beginning to push past the pain now, though he didn't know if that was a good thing. Considering pain was a biological warning for-

Prometheus wobbled, and shook his head to focus when he realised he started to lag again. He growled low in his throat, digging deep for the last dregs of his aether to keep him going.

So intent on his mission to survive this torture session, he never noticed Centurio Mateo's unwavering focus on him the rest of the way.

* * *

Six malms was when most people started to flag.

At that point, Prometheus had pushed well beyond his pain barrier and was mindlessly moving forwards. His shoulders were rubbed raw from the heavy pack's straps shifting continuously, his lower back was spasming, his legs were numb and his fingers started tingling from lack of blood flow. Yet he felt curiously disconnected from these ailments and was fairly certain that if he stopped he was going to  _ Stop,  _ so he kept going because he could do nothing else.

Centurio Mateo started yelling, but Prometheus ignored it since it wasn't aimed at him. He just kept going.

And going.

And going.

And  _ going. _

Until Centurio Mateo yelled, "And stop!" and Prometheus obediently stopped and keeled over right onto his face.

There was a bit of noise. Some groaning, squish of boots on the muddy ground Prometheus face planted into, and thuds of dropped packs. After an indeterminable amount of time, someone kicked him in the ribs, his armour taking the brunt of the blow.

"You dead, Cat?"

_ "Hrnghmph…"  _ Prometheus wheezed into the ground.

"Good," Centurio Mateo said. He grabbed his backpack and, with surprising gentleness, manipulated Prometheus's limp body enough to heave the pack off him and roll him over onto his back, so he wasn't in danger of suffocating on wet mud.

Centurio Mateo looked down at him. Prometheus exhaustedly looked up at him.

"You know," Centurio Mateo said idly, "I wasn't expecting you to pass. But lo and behold, you continue to impress, Cat."

Prometheus grunted.

"Then again, you never knew when to give up…" Centurio Mateo muttered under his breath as he turned away. 

Prometheus frowned at that odd hint of familiarity in that man's tone. But his brain felt like goop, his thoughts sluggishly meandering in useless circles as he stared up at the cloudy sky above, chest heaving from his strained panting. His entire body hurt. He couldn't think beyond that.

"Alright, finish feeling sorry for yourselves and get up! You're not done for the day just yet!"

Fuck.

* * *

"Well, you're not all  _ wastes _ of spaces," Centurio Mateo grudgingly bit out once he was done tormenting them.

Prometheus said nothing - no one said anything, the silence filled with heavy panting and the occasional hiss of pain. They just finished getting thrashed within an inch of their lives going over a brutal obstacle course, and Centurio Mateo had mercilessly dogged them each step of the way.

Prometheus especially. At one point during a timed lap of the obstacle course, that man had hovered by his shoulder as he ran, snarling;  _ "If you drop back even further I'll punch you in the back of the head until you catch up, Cat,"  _ and since Centurio Mateo was almost twice his weight and looked like he could tie him into a pretzel from sheer brute strength alone, Prometheus had found it within himself to practically sprint the rest of the way. It almost killed him though. 

At this point, exhausted or not, Prometheus cottoned onto the unnerving focus Centurio Mateo had on him. Every step, every action, Centurio Mateo was there like a relentless terrier, snapping and yapping at his heels to go faster, push harder, do  _ better,  _ until Prometheus felt like he was going to drop dead on the spot. He didn’t know why he was being singled out. Some of the other recruits were performing better or worse than him, yet it was just  _ him _ being tortured. Why!? 

Even the other recruits have noticed, and every single one of them were giving him looks of pity and relief - if Centurio Mateo was torturing him, they were safe, after all.

"All of you, crawl back into your pits and shower. Rejoin your units' schedule for the rest of the day," Centurio Mateo said, then added, "Not you, Cat. Stay behind."

Prometheus felt a twinge of anxiety, heaving himself up into standing as the other recruits limped away in various states of ruin. He faintly wondered if Centurio Mateo was going to devise some other physical test for him, just to torture him for a while longer, but instead the Centurio simply studied him. 

“I’ve heard about your unusual knowledge on science,” Centurio Mateo said abruptly, “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? Considering…”

Instantly, Prometheus was on edge. He hadn’t forgotten about Centurio Mateo identifying him manipulating his aether before - and recognising for what it was either - and he clenched his soul tight. He forgot… he forgot to sweep the man, when he saw him this morning, to see if he was one of His people. But if he tried now, Centurio Mateo might notice if he was an Amaurotine but…

He felt weird, anyways. Even with Prometheus blinding and deafening himself to the movements of aether and souls, Mateo felt  _ weird. _ Not quite… right, but not… not like Hades. His soul was just as small and tiny as any other mortal’s, but it wasn’t…  _ right.  _ But he didn’t know what wasn’t right. It just wasn’t.

Centurio Mateo chuckled, his voice a low rasp, “Looks like you’re climbing the ladder all on your own. You’re lucky to be  _ born _ with such  _ unusual talents. _ Hm?”

Prometheus said nothing. He didn’t dare say anything, abruptly terrified of incriminating himself of… what, exactly? Remembering? Mateo wasn’t an Amaurotine, but… he might still be a servant of Zodiark, right? Was this a test? Did Hades put him up to this? Was he Hades’s stooge? Some poor mortal Tempered to his will and acting as Hades's/Zodiark's eyes and ears amongst these tiny souls?

“Hmph,” Centurio Mateo crossed his arms, “So cold. You know, just because you have a headstart on your career, doesn’t mean you should alienate potential allies.”

“...”

“Only Garleans get into the Engineering Corps at present,” Centurio Mateo continued, ignoring Prometheus suspicious stare, “As the only Miqo’te, you will encounter barriers you will struggle to overcome on your own. Why, I suspect your mentors will try to encourage you to drop out, just because of what you are.”

“And you’ll help stop that, will you?” Prometheus asked without thinking, his tone biting.

Centurio Mateo, thankfully, didn’t take offence to his tone, “Ah, now you’re getting it. My  _ public _ support and my  _ private _ assistance, will ensure your…  _ comfort.” _

“...”

“But you’re exhausted right now, and clearly bitter towards me,” Centurio Mateo said after a chilly pause, sounding greatly amused, “Just know that I push you, because you can take it. It’s nothing  _ personal. _ ”

Oh, it was personal. Prometheus had a feeling that this was very, very,  _ very _ personal.

“Now,” Centurio Mateo straightened up, drawing his military persona back around him, “Get back to your block and wash that shit off you, Cat. You stink.”

With that, the suspicious Centurio marched off, melting into the shadows in a way that Prometheus was beginning to realise was unnatural. There was something very off with that… man. If he even was one. 

But Prometheus was tired, in pain, and running on fumes. He had no energy to even begin feeling worried or stressed, just blankly staring at where the Centurio had vanished. Was he Hades’s? Or was he another player, yet unknown to Prometheus? Just what the hell was going on in this bloody place?

He grunted, slowly limping back to his barracks on half-numb, aching legs. Hopefully tomorrow will go easier on him, because at this rate, if Hades didn’t get him, or Zodiark, then all this relentless, murderous training  _ will. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took a brief break since work/real life has decided to sucker punch me haha sorry for the lapse in my usual daily updates but my mental energy has been super low...


	12. Interlude: Mateo I

Mateo’s shoulders slumped in relief when he finally reached his personal quarters in the Centurio’s barracks, the only place he could truly shed his human persona without fear of slipping overly much around these malformed fragments. He cracked his neck and shook out his aching limbs, cursing the limitations of these fragile bodies. Even he struggled to keep up with the thrashing he gave that VIP.

Yes, that  _ VIP.  _ A very interesting individual, that one...

Mateo unhooked his helmet, tossing it carelessly onto his bed. He felt a flicker in the aether around him, and pivoted on his heel to see ‘Celeste’ already loitering in the corner of his room. She was still dressed in her Centurio guise.

“Is he really  _ that _ impatient for a report?” Mateo muttered irritably.

“The VIP is of great interest,” Celeste said, her helmeted head tilting to the side like a curious bird, “Anything important to say?”

“You can tell him that he’s as stubborn as ever,” Mateo sighed, “That never changes, no matter how many times he’s reborn…”

“Hm.”

“His aetherochemical manipulation is inhumanely controlled,” Mateo continued, “No mortal should be able to do that at his age. Well, no  _ normal _ one, anyways. Also...”

“Yes?”

“His soul’s clean,” Mateo said slowly, “Yes, you can tell him that. It’s clean.”

A spark of interest and surprise fluttered through Celeste, and she leant forwards, echoing, “ _ Clean?” _

“There’s no trace of Hydaelyn in him,” Mateo confirmed, “I ran his aether down to the  _ dregs, _ and not a speck could be sensed.”

Silence lapsed between them, the importance of that tiny detail not lost on either of them. Every time that particular shard was born, on any of the fragmented worlds, it was always Tempered and entangled in Hydaelyn’s Blessing, trapped and condemned to exist as Her unfailingly loyal servant until death. To finally possess a shard without Her influence meant that one of their lost brethren could be reclaimed.

“I will tell him this,” Celeste finally said, “He may want to reclaim him while he remains clean.”

Mateo wasn’t too sure. The shard was too unstable and unknown for his liking. They had no idea what its memory gaps were, where the cracks ran through,  _ how _ it was drawing upon knowledge that should be lost to it. No, he might want observation to continue and decide after more information was gathered. There was no point reclaiming an unstable shard, no matter how unique. Especially _that one,_ which hadn't been stable even when it had been whole. Personally, Mateo felt it'd be best to break and tame the shard, before reclaiming it, but this wasn't his decision to make. It was the High Legatus's.

But he said none of this to Celeste, “Yes, tell him now. I’ll continue to observe the VIP as before."

Celeste nodded, and the shadows in the corner of his room slowly swallowed her up, until she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	13. Done

Prometheus was tired of being mortal. 

He came to this weary conclusion somewhere after midnight, exhausted both mentally and physically, yet unable to drop off to sleep. His thoughts kept circling, anxiety gnawing at his guts, as he listened to Ahyi’s snoring above him, the deep, steady breathing of Xado, and Pahto’s drowsy mumbling about ‘landfish’.

As an Amaurotine, it was so easy to bend the world to your convenience. You never wanted for anything, because you could simply Create it. You had  _ eternity _ to learn, grow, and discover amazing things, science and technology leaping and bounding endlessly because of the unbroken thread of experience that were their long lives. 

Mortals had none of that. They were short-lived, ill-focused, petty, tiny, their threads broken repeatedly with each generation, eternally playing a game of catch up. Scientific progress stuttered and stalled, even regressed, and they were so busy fighting each other that the only technology that  _ continuously _ improved was that geared towards war. 

War. 

Today, Prometheus learned they were at war. 

Well, ‘they’ being Garlemald. They’d been at war for a while, apparently. It had been brought up after Prometheus had dragged his battered corpse from Mateo’s sadistic ‘fitness tests’, with Ahyi commenting that while the physical training was punishing, he’d be thankful for it when he was eventually sent to the front lines. 

( _ “Front lines? Front lines of what?” _

_ “I keep forgetting you grew up in the woods,” Ahyi said wryly, giving him a look that was both pitying and tired, “Garlemald is at war with the rest of Ilsabard. We’re uniting everyone under a single banner, or so they say.” _

_ “All of Ilsabard…?” _ )

It made a lot of sense. 

Why Garlemald suddenly brought in forced conscription, why there were a growing number of non-Garleans being essentially  _ kidnapped _ and dragged into their army, why their military technology was outstripping everything else… for whatever reason, Hades was pushing this otherwise tiny, insignificant Republic into a campaign of aggressive expansion, exploiting the Garleans’ resentment from their neighbours’ oppression. 

But why?

What did Hades get out of it? Prometheus doubted it was sympathy for the Garleans’ plight. Hades never hid how little he thought of the ‘lesser races’ back when Amaurot still stood, and he doubted that had changed  _ now.  _ Zodiark had viewed the lesser races as nothing more than a food source, and with his influence still shrouding Hades’s soul so heavily… no, there was nothing benevolent in Hades’s involvement. 

Prometheus pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, exhaling explosively. He didn’t  _ get it. _ If he was still an Amaurotine, he could  _ do  _ something! He could confront Hades without fear, thrash the living daylights out of him, even, and then…

Then what?

Zodiark was involved, and Prometheus was too much of a coward to confront that monster again. Sometimes, he still dreamt of the day that creature tried to Temper him. Could remember it cracking his soul open and digging inside, the rasping echoes of  ** _obey_ ** pulsing through the very core of him. It had been agonising - but a sweet kind, the sort where, if he gave in, he’d have no more worries, he would be protected but enslaved, he could be with Hades forever, living in a superficial, empty paradise, if he only accepted Him as his God, if only he obeyed…

Prometheus rolled over and curled up tight, pressing his hands against his stomach as nausea roiled in him. That tiny sliver of Zodiark’s essence remained in him. It still whispered  ** _obey_ ** to him. It still… sounded tempting. 

But he’d never give in. 

He endured then, and he’ll endure now. Being mortal was painful, but preferable to being bent and twisted under Zodiark’s loving hands. 

Still, he couldn’t help but feel out of his depth. He lacked information - he lacked  _ a lot _ of information, and what pieces of the puzzle he did have just didn’t connect into a halfway coherent theory. 

Facts: Hades was here, unsundered. He was still under Zodiark’s influence. Under the guise of a Garlean High Legatus, he was leading Garlemald into an aggressive war of expansion, uplifting them with military technology far beyond their usual capabilities. There was a chance the Garlemald Army was seeded with Zodiark’s Tempered. Prometheus, despite being Sundered, had  _ most _ of his memories, but none of his powers. Prometheus was mortal. Hades wasn’t. 

What theory can he craft from that? 

Could it be… mortals  _ did _ possess a unique ability that, under the right circumstances, was far more powerful than an Amaurotine’s Creation magic. The Collective Consciousness of mortals could be focused towards acts of Creation that broke through the boundaries of reality. The problem was, you needed  _ a lot _ of mortals, working in concert, all ‘Believing’ in the same exact thing. It was nigh impossible, considering how chaotic and fractious they were. 

Luckily, Tempering soiled that power somewhat, so Zodiark Tempering the entire planet of mortals wouldn’t help Him much. Yet, if Garlemald managed to rule over a significant chunk of the population, and convinced everyone to Believe in Zodiark…

Hrm. No, Prometheus doubted that was the aim. It probably wouldn’t work, considering how contrary and unique mortals were. No one would have the exact idea of Zodiark, or they wouldn’t  _ really _ Believe and just pay lip service instead, and Zodiark would end up with nothing.

Prometheus rolled onto his back and sighed. No. Hades wouldn’t rely on a wishy-washy plan like that. 

Urgh. This was frustrating! Prometheus  _ hated _ not knowing anything! 

It wasn’t like he could research this or ask anyone either! What, was he going to walk up to Hades and just  _ ask _ him what his evil plan was? Yeah, and get dragged off to Zodiark and Tempered before he could so much as leap into the Lifestream to escape-

Wait. 

Prometheus stared at the underside of Ahyi’s bunk, feeling like an  _ absolute fucking moron. _ The  _ Lifestream. _ That was  _ it! _ While his affinity with it wasn’t as finely tuned as it was before, Prometheus could still  _ attempt _ to tap into it! Being where all souls went to rest, it was a repository of all memories and thoughts of the star itself! Surely, there must be  _ something _ in there that could help him understand this situation! 

Excitement filling him with a near-manic energy, Prometheus crawled out of bed. His body ached, legs painfully stiff, but he still managed to escape the bedroom without rousing his roommates, and padded down the freezing cold corridor to the ablutions. 

It was just as cold here, but he was alone at least. For good measure, he went to the bath cubicle, shutting the door and climbing into the chilly, metal tub, his knees pulled back to his chest and his heart thumping frantically against his ribcage. 

The Lifestream was everywhere, so it was easy to reach out and focus on it. He had to be careful, though, not to expose himself in the process. Hades was still on the camp, and if he sensed Prometheus making contact with the Lifestream itself, well, the ruse was up. Or, whatever remained of a ruse, anyways, considering he already knew he was a shard…

In Amaurot, Prometheus could coax the Lifestream to take on a physical form. This made it easier to communicate, being in contact with its liquid or crystallised form, focusing a sliver of the Lifestream into something sentient enough to ask coherent questions. As a mortal, all Prometheus could do was blindly blunder into the swirling, ephemeral aether like a clumsy child, yelling his questions into the churning maelstrom of eldritch logic and hoping he got something recognisable in return. 

And, what he got- 

_ Sunderedsoulsbrokenlittleliveslivingendlessbrokenthirteenreflectionscombinesunderedsoulstinysoulstherejoiningsunderedsoulsthirteenreflections _ ** _hearfeelthinkyouhavereturnedtomeprometheu-_ **

Prometheus wrenched himself out of the Lifestream so fast his head spun. Pain flared in his shoulder where he flung himself against the edge of the bathtub, panting in fear as he looked about himself. Nothing. Cold, dark metal walls, looming over him, the glare of fluorescent lightning buzzing. His ears rang, still echoing those soft, gentle words…

That wasn’t the Lifestream.

That had been  _ something else, _ something that cut through the confusing scream of the Lifestream and directly  _ for him.  _ The touch had felt familiar -  _ tempting _ \- and that split second Prometheus had  _ almost _ leant into that presence. He didn’t recognise it though, but he  _ did, _ and it recognised  _ him. _

Bright, pure, blinding Light. 

Prometheus shuddered all over, curling up tight in the bathtub. He closed his soul even tighter, blocking out even the comforting lull of the Lifestream itself. He didn’t dare reach out again. 

For that touch, that brief moment of contact… 

It had tried to  _ Temper him. _

* * *

“Are you okay?”

Prometheus listlessly poked his fried eggs, not looking up at Xado’s concerned question, “Yeah.”

“Hrm,” Xado didn’t hide her doubt, and he felt her eyes on him as he continued chasing his breakfast around his plate. It was another freezing cold day, so the mess hall was rammed full of conscripts trying to escape the chill outside by prolonging their breakfast. It meant everyone was shoulder to shoulder on every bench, and Prometheus was wedged between Xado and Ahyi, with Pahto across from him. 

“I think he’s homesick,” Pahto said gently, putting another strip of bacon on his plate, “But, you still need to eat up, Prom! You won’t get big and strong if you play with your food.”

_ I’m not a child, _ he barely held back from snapping, letting out a bad-tempered grunt instead. 

“Or, he’s just in a mood,” Ahyi drawled, “He’s still a kid. They get grumpy a lot.”

Prometheus dropped his fork and shoved his plate away so he could rest his forehead on the hard, metal table instead. He was drained beyond belief. Last night, he didn’t sleep at all, and it took him two hours to muster the courage to crawl out of the bathtub after finishing his mental breakdown over whatever the  _ fuck _ had tried to Temper him. That didn’t do wonders for his achingly stiff body… 

Stars. He was so done. He needed help. He  _ needed _ help. Someone,  _ please, _ help him already... 

“Is Conscript Xai- Shu- ugh, is Conscript  _ Prom _ here?”

Prometheus lifted his head, just as Xado said, “Yeah, it’s this guy.”

It was a pale-haired Garlean, clad in legionaries armour with an unfamiliar insignia embedded on his breastplate. He looked quite young, and mildly uncomfortable to be standing before a table full of Miqo’te. All of the women were eyeing him with various levels of mistrust and wariness. Prometheus heard there was a bit of bad blood between them and fellow Garlean conscripts. 

“Centurio Celeste requests your presence after this morning’s parade,” the Garlean messenger recited dutifully, “Stay behind near the square after it’s done, and she will collect you.”

Prometheus blinked slowly, “Okay.”

The pale-haired Garlean lingered, and, after realising he was getting no more than that, quickly scurried off. One of the Miqo’te further down the table jeered at his retreating back. 

“Centurio Celeste…” Ahyi mused beside him, “Isn’t she part of the Engineering Corps?”

“Is she pure evil like Mateo?” Prometheus asked. 

“Don’t know,” Ahyi said, “But I haven’t heard anything  _ bad _ about her.”

“Or anything good,” Xado added, “The Engineering Corps are, uh, well, they’re normally barred to people like… us, so we don’t really come into contact with her much.” 

Pahto let out a small hum, “I think she’s friends with Mateo, though. That should say enough.”

Prometheus gave Pahto an odd look. That man could have friends? 

“How’d you know that?” Xado asked suspiciously. 

“Ehehe…” Pahto tapped her nose, giving Xado a bright smile, “I just hear and see things!”

Friends with Mateo, huh? Prometheus brooded quietly on that, picking up his fork to poke at his fried eggs again. It stood to reason that he’d have to treat her as cautiously as he treated Mateo. She might be one of Zodiark’s Tempered, like he suspected Mateo to be. Or… whoever Mateo was.

Prometheus speared the egg yolk, watching it spill orange fluid over his toast. 

He was so done. 


	14. Interlude: Celeste I

Celeste has met several Prometheus shards in her time on the Source. 

These meetings were several centuries apart, so her memories were hazy on the details. But she remembered that, unlike the other fragments of their sundered brethren, Prometheus dawdled in the reincarnation cycle, bathing in the glaring Light of Hydaelyn before being born to become a  _ thorn _ in their side. Without fail, his shards would bumble into their plans, disrupting things and blazing Her Light upon them as a  _ Warrior of Light. _

Except this time. This time… 

This shard was… odd. It  _ felt _ odd, when she discreetly reached out to it. Souls were continuously in flux, ever morphing, shifting, adapting to the emotional and mental state of its vessel - yet this shard was different. Its soul was static and as unchanging as stone, radiating a cold so intense Celeste found it difficult to get close enough to scrutinise it. 

There was no Light within it. No Darkness, either. It simply  _ was, _ like the remains of a cold, dead star. It unnerved her. 

It wasn’t natural, whatever it was. 

But, Emet-Selch’s orders were clear. Observe the anomaly, report anything unusual, keep an eye out for Hydaelyn’s influence. For that, Celeste would have to get close, and luckily for her, the shard excelled in technical matters - most likely drawing upon past knowledge unwittingly - so it was easy to arrange for it to land squarely under her influence. 

Her newest… recruit. 

As per her command, the shard waited for her on the edge of the parade square. She took her time strolling up to it, to properly scrutinise it. 

The shard stood in an exhausted slouch, its head bent low towards the ground in clear resignation. Celeste was used to Prometheus shards being nauseatingly defiant and  _ perky, _ so she felt a little uncomfortable at this open show of defeat. Her gut instinct kept hissing that it was trying to lull her into a state of false security. 

Perhaps it was. Or, perhaps it really was defeated. The vessel for this shard was not yet an adult, stolen from his mother and dragged here where he came under Mateo’s ‘tender’ mercies. Confused, alone and emotionally spent, without even a murmur of his false Goddess to give it guidance. Anyone would be depressed in those circumstances…

...

No, don’t sympathise with  _ it. _

Celeste can work this in her favour. Perhaps, if the shard felt vulnerable enough, she might be able to charm it into compliance. The vessel was a boy, and her, a woman. Careful modulation of her personality and approach into something maternal might make the shard grow attached to her, and therefore, malleable. 

Mm, she’ll try that. 

“Conscript Xaiaxu?” she greeted once she drew close, watching how the shard lifted its head to fix her with a wary look, “I’m Centurio Celeste. Do you know why I asked you to stay behind?”

“Something to do with the Engineering Corps, I assume?” the shard muttered. Its eyes were dull, and nothing in its expression betrayed any kind of emotion. Its soul was silent. Cold. It was like someone had cut out hole in the Lifestream, and this empty, flat  _ thing _ was all that remained of Prometheus. 

_ It’s so creepy,  _ Celeste thought, suppressing a disgusted shudder. 

“You assume correctly,” she said, managing to inject some warmth into her tone, “From this day forth, you will be under my command. You are now part of the 1st Engineering Regiment of the Garlean Army, a prestigious position that will fast track you to citizenship within three years.” 

“I see,” the shard said, not looking particularly wowed by the honour.

“You seem dissatisfied,” Celeste said gently, “Is there something on your mind? If you have any questions about your new role, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“...no, I’m fine, ma’am,” the shard said after a pregnant pause, its gaze flitting away. A lie. Something was bothering it. But, before she could press, it continued; “I assume my schedule will be matching that of my new unit?”

“Yes. You will be shadowing one of the more senior recruits,” Celeste said, “An Architectus Midas  _ jen _ Garlond. He is around your age, but a prodigy in the ways of Magitek. Considering your own abilities, I felt you two may get along well.”

It was also convenient. Midas was a genuine asset for their plan. His potential to craft and create weapons of mass destruction for Garlemald was immense - it only needed a little…  _ push _ , a little erosion of morals. Easily done, considering how young the man was. Using this shard to lift Midas’s knowledge to higher, and deadlier, heights, could hasten the timetable to their advantage. They were long overdue another Calamity. 

The only tricky part was getting the shard to play along. Mateo promised to tear it down into a vulnerable enough state to be manipulated, but… well, Prometheus excelled in ruining their plans just by  _ existing. _ She was anticipating this shard to be no different. 

“Architectus Midas…” the shard repeated dully, “Okay.” 

“If there are no questions, I’ll take you to the workshop. This will be where we spend our working day, if we’re not conducting physical training,” Celeste said, beginning to get worried about the lack of emotional response in this shard. Was it broken? “Follow me, Conscript Xaiaxu.”

The shard made a low noise of acknowledgement, and dutifully shadowed her. With her back turned to the shard, she let her friendly, warm expression drop into one of irritation. She really didn’t want to be dealing with Prometheus  _ again, _ but, what Emet-Selch wanted… 

It was odd, though. Normally he just had these shards killed. Strange for him to feel so sentimental  _ now, _ after ten thousand years had passed. But, it wasn’t her position to question. They all served the same purpose, and some had more perspective than the rest. 

She’d just have to trust that Emet-Selch had a plan here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :u


	15. Midas

The workshop was hot and loud, despite the freezing cold weather outside. It resembled a hanger, except instead of planes, it housed a myriad of Magitek of various primitive designs. Prometheus couldn’t help but stare in amazement, his gaze roving from what looked like walking cannons on clumsy, bipedal legs, to egg-shaped hovercrafts with a giant flameflower welded to the underside of it. There was no…  _ no aesthetic, _ to it all. Just, here’s a bunch of random military technology clumsily smashed together by those who  _ clearly _ had no understanding of what they were making. 

If any of these worked, he’d be impressed… and deeply concerned. 

Centurio Celeste, a surprisingly pleasant individual that put Prometheus on edge regardless, deftly navigated the technological nightmare that was the workshop. It was like a maze, the both of them weaving between looming machines, vehicles and magitek golems, until they ended up in a far corner of the hanger. 

There was someone shoulder-deep in what looked like the guts of a bipedal walker cannon, sparks flying from what Prometheus guessed to be a welder of some kind. Past the flying, bright globs of light, the mystery welder’s hair looked silvery white. 

“Midas!” Centurio Celeste shouted, her voice raised to be heard over the background noise of machinery, “Get your head out of the Reaper and meet your new comrade!”

The welder clicked off, and with a grunt, ‘Midas’ wrestled himself out of the ‘Reaper’. He lifted his metal faceguard when he turned, his pale face flushed from heat and exertion as his blue eyes zeroed in on Prometheus semi-hidden behind the tall, female Centurio. He looked… not exactly annoyed, but not particularly thrilled either to see him. 

“Centurio?” Midas said carefully, his voice startlingly deep, “Our new comrade is a  _ Miqo’te _ ?”

“Hm, none of those prejudices, now,” Centurio Celeste chided in a motherly tone that made Prometheus side-eye her, “Conscript Xaiaxu is a remarkably intelligent individual. You’re to be his, hm,  _ mentor _ for the next few weeks. Show him the ropes as an engineer, things like that.”

“...” Midas’s expression didn’t twitch, but his eyes narrowed a fraction at Prometheus, “I see. I understand, Centurio.” 

“Good,” Centurio Celeste reached behind herself, gripping Prometheus’s shoulder and forcing him forwards, “Don’t be shy. Introduce yourself.”

“Um,” Prometheus stumbled to a halt in front of Midas. The Garlean engineer was tall, and broad, and Prometheus had to crane his head back to look him squarely in the eye. He felt like he was being sized up, Midas examining him with a grim expression and tightly crossed arms. 

“I’m Xaiaxu, but everyone calls me ‘Prom’,” he said, missing how Celeste twitched behind him, “In case Xaiaxu is… too difficult to say…”

Midas made an odd expression then, but it was gone before Prometheus could parse it, “Which do you prefer? Xaiaxu, or Prom?”

Prometheus blinked, genuinely surprised at the accurate pronunciation of this life’s name. That was a first. Most Garleans mangled it, “Oh, uh, any. Any’s fine.”

“Hm,” Midas glanced past him, at Centurio Celeste, “I’ll look after him, ma’am.”

“Good, see that you do. Conscript…  _ Prom,” _ Celeste sounded the name out, slowly, “Is very special. Oh, and before I forget… be sure to report here every day after morning parade,  _ Prom.” _

With that, the odd Centurio walked away, leaving just him and Midas awkwardly staring at each other. 

“So, how old are you?” Midas asked bluntly. 

_ Older than all your civilisations put together,  _ Prometheus thought dully, “Sixteen.”

“Sixteen or ‘sixteen’?” Midas said, putting a strange emphasis on the last word, “Had a guy here recently who was actually thirteen, just big for his age.”

Prometheus stared at him, “Uh, I’m really sixteen.” 

“Hm, you look younger,” Midas said, rubbing at his chin. It was scruffy with pale stubble, “Well, I’m not sure what to do with you, really. I doubt you know anything about Magitek, right?”

“I know enough,” Prometheus said, looking past Midas at this ‘Reaper’ thing. He wondered how the bipedalism worked. Two legs were a curious design choice for something like a walking cannon - it was notoriously lacking in the stability that came from a four leg bodyplan, both to compensate for recoil and general stability. If they incorporated four legs, that means the chassis could be longer, meaning a bigger cannon too - then again, it would be slower, which meant they might as well create a generic tank with tracked wheels for extra mobility…

Midas followed his gaze, “You know what that is, at least? It’s one of the more widespread Magitek in the Garlean Army: a Reaper.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” Prometheus admitted, “But it looks like a design disaster.”

Midas gave him an unreadable look - and then smiled. 

“It does, isn’t it?” he laughed quietly, “It’s an absolute  _ menace _ to maintain! Makes you wonder what High Legatus Solus was thinking, making it bipedal.”

_ He was probably designing a death trap,  _ Prometheus thought uncharitably, because that was what this thing was. The pilot seat was completely  _ exposed _ for any well-aimed spell or round to take them out. Plus, this was powered on  _ Ceruleum, _ which was highly flammable and prone to  _ exploding. _ And they mounted a fucking cannon on it. Unbelievable. 

“It requires a highly calibrated servo motor to maintain a steady gait,” Midas continued, looking much more animated for some reason, “The thing is, the recoil of the cannon knocks this servo motor off balance more often than not, so it has to be recalibrated after twenty rounds, otherwise the whole thing will topple over mid-stride.”

“Well, that sounds dumb,” Prometheus said, “No AI mounted into its systems to help with that either, I guess?”

Midas paused, tilting his head, “AI…?”

Oh, right. They probably hadn’t invented - or been  _ given _ \- Artificial Intelligence yet. 

“Er, a… Sharlayan term,” Prometheus lied awkwardly, “It’s… basically, an artificial intelligence to handle large loads or complex calculations on machines. You know, like automata or a… a golem or something? They think and adjust for themselves?”

“Oh. Hm,” Midas cupped his chin, his brow furrowed thoughtfully, “I see what you mean. Yes, if we replaced the servo motor with a Mammet heart, that might… but those are too rare to mass-produce, and temperamental…”

Prometheus waited for a moment, but quickly realised Midas had retreated deep into his own mind to mull over a ‘Mammet heart’. He wasn’t quite sure what that was, but he supposed it was something similar to Materia, maybe. A crystal with a speck of Lifestream in it, enough to give it some limited personality. He supposed that could act as an AI, but it wouldn’t be a very sophisticated one. 

“Ah,” Midas shook himself out of his thoughts, just as Prometheus opened his mouth to prompt him, “Sorry! I tend to drift off when an idea grips me. Now, Centurio Celeste told me to show you the ropes, didn’t she? Well, first thing’s first, we should get you your uniform.”

Prometheus looked down at himself, at his generic, dark Garlean armour, then at Midas. He was dressed in sturdy looking, yet bland, dark blue coveralls, stained with grease and oil and bolstered with boiled leather gloves, boots and knee pads for protection. 

“I’m not sure if we’ll have any in your size, though…” Midas mused after a long pause where he scrutinised him, “They’re all designed for Garlean proportions and, er, there’ll be no hole for your tail…”

“I’ll manage,” Prometheus said, “I know how to tailor clothes.”

Midas rubbed the back of his neck, but he shrugged, “Fine. Come with me, then. We have a break room where we stuff all the spare uniforms. How are you with dogs?”

“I like dogs,” Prometheus said, vaguely remembering the affectionate creatures from his Amaurot days. They were still around? That was neat.

“Well, good, because there’s about a million of them trotting about here.” 

* * *

There weren’t quite a million of them, but there were several when they reached the break room. They were stocky, muscle-bound beasts with flat faces and a large underbite, their teeth jutting out in a kind of ugly-cute way. They had loose, wrinkly skin, and tiny, beady eyes, and at a glance Prometheus judged them to be bred for fighting. 

Yet, despite that, they were very friendly. They eagerly snuffled at Prometheus’s extended hands while Midas dug about for a spare uniform that could fit. 

Prometheus forgot how cathartic it was to pet animals. Slowly, he found himself sinking to the floor, exhaustion pulling on him as these affectionate, blissfully happy dogs crowded around him seeking pets and snuffles and licked him until he stank of dog slobber and had fur caught in the edges of his armour. 

It unknotted something that had been painfully tight in his chest. He had a weird, passing urge to start crying. 

He held it in, though, ending up with one particularly snuggly dog sitting on his lap, its wet noise pressed into the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around its bulky form. It was warm and heavy on his legs, and he felt no shame when Midas returned with a bundle of coveralls under his arm and gave him an oddly indulgent look, like he was an adorable child.

(And, from Midas’s perspective, he probably did look like that. Prometheus was aware this body looked  _ young, _ was young, and his obliviousness to the state of Garlemald and everything else sold it even further. The deception left him feeling… weird) 

“Well, that’s one stereotype debunked,” Midas said, sitting down on one of the ratty sofas in the break room, setting the coveralls aside next to him, “It’s said Miqo’te and dogs don’t get along.”

“Because we have feline attributes?” Prometheus mumbled into the dog’s ruff, “That’s stupid.”

“I guess,” Midas said. There was a pause, a comfortable one where Prometheus hugged the dog, feeling that painful tension he’d been carrying since he laid eyes on Hades easing, and where Midas watched him with an unreadable look. 

“You were caught up in the forced conscription, weren’t you?” Midas said quietly.

“Weren’t you?” Prometheus returned, lifting his head enough to meet Midas’s solemn gaze. 

“...not really,” Midas leaned back on the sofa, his mouth twisting into a wry grin, “The Garlond family are  _ expected _ to serve in the military, and every son has done at least five years. There’s an illusion of choice but…”

Midas shrugged, splaying his hands out, “It’s nothing like what you went through, I’m sure. I’ve heard… stories.”

“Stories?”

“Stories,” Midas repeated, glancing idly about the room. He didn’t elaborate, picking up the coveralls and tossing them Prometheus’s way instead. Prometheus fumbled to catch them one handed, “When you’re done cuddling the dogs, toss that on and meet me by the Reaper.”

“Um-”

“Take your time,” Midas interrupted, pushing himself up off the sofa, “There’s no rush. You look like you could use a break, anyways.” 

With that, Midas left before Prometheus could protest. 

“He seems… nice,” Prometheus said to the dog in his lap, and got a wet nose in his face in response. He giggled, gently nudging the snuffling, flat face from his mouth and scritched the dog behind the ears, “Yeah, yeah, you are too.”

But, as nice as it was to cuddle dogs and forget his worries, Prometheus’s legs were falling asleep. Reluctantly, he coaxed the dog off and stood up, stretching his legs out with a grimace as the other dogs took over the sofas or ambled around his feet, their stubby tails wagging. There was just something so  _ good _ about dogs. Prometheus’s soul already felt better after a few minutes with them. 

Hm. Maybe it won’t be too bad, working as an engineer. Granted, he’ll have to fiddle about with dangerous, primitive technology that looks liable to explode at any moment, but… dogs. 

Prometheus moved over to the sofa, lifting one dog’s hindquarters to grab his new uniform, when a crumpled, glossy square of paper slid out from underneath the coveralls and onto the floor. He paused, tilting his head curiously when his eyes were drawn to the bold, demanding lettering scrawled over it:  _ ‘GARLEMALD NEEDS YOU…’ _

There, drawn in loving detail, was High Legatus Solus. 

Hades. 

Transfixed, Prometheus slowly knelt and picked up the poster. Because that’s what it was, a propaganda poster. A few years old, by the looks of it, its corners dog-eared, and Solus’s face marred by creases where it had been folded up several times. There was a dark stain, smelling faintly of coffee, in the far corner, covering up the ‘OU’ in YOU. 

Prometheus stared at that familiar yet unfamiliar face, unable to stop himself from recognising Hades behind the stern, exhausted features of Legatus Solus. The hair was all wrong. The nose was different. His lips were darker. His eyes were a duller gold. His face…

But enough similarities for him to faintly  _ recognise _ Hades behind that face. Something in Prometheus’s heart  _ twisted, _ like a knot of bramble got tangled up in his heartstrings somehow, and he swallowed thickly, his fingers clenching into the glossy poster until he was almost ripping it. 

He was trying not to think about Hades. He was trying  _ so hard. _ But, still, he wondered: where was he? He recognised him as a shard, didn’t he? He did. Prometheus didn’t  _ imagine _ that brief moment of connection, of  _ recognition, _ that passed between them. Yet, Hades maintained his distance. If he was observing Prometheus, he was doing it out of view, being elusive and… wasn’t that  _ like _ him? He always was the sort to try and avoid awkward situations, even when Prometheus wanted him to-!

He shook his head violently, cutting off that thought. What was he thinking? He should be relieved that Hades thought him so beneath his notice he was ignoring him. Prometheus didn’t… he didn’t  _ care  _ about him anymore. Hades,  _ his _ Hades, was long dead, and all that remained was Zodiark’s thrall. Having  _ that thing’s _ attention was the last fucking thing he wanted!

Prometheus told himself to rip up the poster, or shove it back under the dog’s ass, where it belonged, but he found himself gripping it tight like it was a lifeline, his gaze hungrily drinking in Solus’s familiar-unfamiliar face. 

Fuck. He missed him. 

He  _ missed _ him. 

He shouldn’t miss him. 

He cut the bond between them himself. He did it without regret. He  _ did. _

_ (he didn’t. he regretted, so deeply, so, so deeply…) _

But, love was a fickle thing, and Prometheus slowly, shamefully, folded the poster up - neatly, taking great care not to crease it further, and tucked it into the space between his undershirt and his gambeson, where it would stay until he went to bed tonight. 

He was such a weakling. 


	16. Timeskip (Kind of)

In the weeks that followed, Prometheus settled into an uneasy routine of sorts. 

It was inevitable, really. Unable to do anything else but follow the path laid out to him, Prometheus eased into his new role as a ‘Combat Engineer’. He shadowed Midas on most days, to learn the trade from him (though, really, it was more like Midas learned from  _ him, _ since whatever nonsense those Garlean engineers taught their troops was borderline  _ dangerous!) _ , and on other days Centurio Mateo would thrash them within an inch of their lives across the training ground. 

There was no time to rest. No day offs. Just constant nose to the grindstone, pushing forwards forwards forwards until Prometheus didn’t even have the energy to think or dwell on his situation. He was just a lowly conscript, an engineer, who barely knew the state of the world or why they were apparently at war, just living and working and breathing and existing. He would wake up still smelling engine oil, and scrubbing black grease from under his fingernails, and in the mirror his dark, sunken eyes would stare dully back. 

Still. He found the time to write. 

To ‘Mother’. The Garlean Army allowed their conscripts  _ some _ amenities, and that was free postage. Prometheus had no doubt they read the letters they handled, but he didn’t care. He wrote his letters like a good son, omitting the bleak details and mentions of war and potential deployment to the front, and sent them off with a heavy heart. 

Because. 

While he was being worked to exhaustion these past few weeks, Prometheus still managed to  _ investigate  _ in dribs and drabs _ . _ The state of the world, the state of Garlemald, the known history, etcetera. He even got his hands on a map once - and had stared in mute horror when he realised none of the continents or islands were recognisable or matched up with what he remembered. 

_ (When the Doom hit, the entire surface of the planet had been upheaved, he knew. Comets pummelling the earth, tectonic plates splitting and buckling, lava spewing from the depths, landmass shifting and squirming like broken ice floes on turbulent waters. Zodiark had restored only what was there, not to what it once was, and- _

_ But there was more) _

When he had tentatively asked Midas about it, playing up the persona of ignorant country bumpkin, the older man had simply laughed and told him that that map was out of date, that it was for the  _ ninth _ Astral Era. The world’s face had changed dramatically after the Tenth Calamity.

Tenth Calamity.  _ Tenth. _ Plural. 

Planets, stellar bodies, went through periods of dramatic, and sometimes  _ violent, _ transformation. Temperatures would spike or plummet, polarity of the poles would reverse, tides and streams would change, oceans would rise, or fall, droughts would sweep through or cataclysmic eruptions would smother the planet. It was how it worked. They transformed, they changed, but this was over periods of  _ millions of years. _ Not within  _ centuries. _

Calamities. Ten  _ cataclysmic  _ calamities with only  _ centuries _ separating each other. That wasn’t the only thing either. The cumulative history of this species was only ten thousand years! Ten thousand! There weren’t any records evolution for them - or, attempts at investigation into their own origins. Just, bam, they existed, civilisation and all. Which would fall. Then rise rapidly again, technology and magic advancing in unnatural leaps and bounds until: Calamity. Back to zero. Start again. Rapid rise, advancement, downfall.

It wasn’t right. This accelerated history. The short spaces between civilisations. The violent upheaval of this star’s climate and tectonic plates happening with such alarming frequency. Even the Lifestream was a mess, when he chanced to tentatively peek into it, wary of being ambushed by that unknown entity of Light lurking in there. A tangled, diluted mess, pulled in too many directions and howling from the strain of it. It was a fission bomb about to go off. A disaster. A  _ mess. _

Something was _ very wrong _ with this star. 

_ Incredibly _ wrong.

* * *

“I found the book you wanted.”

Prometheus lifted his head, blinking owlishly at Midas leaning over the edge of the Reaper’s cockpit. In his large hand was a beaten up, well thumbed through book, Garlean script embossed on the front;  _ ‘Mankind and His Origins: The First Umbral Era’. _

“That was fast,” Prometheus said, abandoning his work on the Reaper console, wires hanging aimlessly as he leaned over to take the book - only to frown when Midas playfully lifted it out of reach, “Midas…”

“You still haven’t explained this sudden interest in ancient history,” Midas said, “You’re not getting too worried about these Calamities, are you? We’re not due another one for another century or so, you know. If another one even happens.”

“I just want to expand my knowledge,” Prometheus said, fighting to keep a straight face. He still struggled with lying flawlessly, “I like learning, and I know so little about history.”

“Hm,” Midas gave him a doubtful look, but he handed over the book. 

Prometheus rewarded him with a smile, clutching the book close to his chest in case Midas got second thoughts, “Thanks! I’ll give it back after a few days.”

“Take your time with it. It’s a dense book,” Midas said, climbing down from where he’d been clinging to the side of the Reaper, “Oh, and  _ don’t _ read it now. We need to finish these Reapers by close of play today. Celeste will rip us a new one if we don’t finish on time again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Prometheus said, making a show of tucking the book between his thigh and the side of the cockpit, “I know. I won’t slack off.” 

Midas eyed him from the ground, but trusting that Prometheus wasn’t going to waste work time reading (a mistake he made once that got the otherwise placid and friendly Midas genuinely angry with him), he ambled off to continue working on the Reapers across the hanger. 

Prometheus watched him go, waiting until he was out of view behind a row of inert Iron Giants before quickly cracking open the book. He skimmed the irrelevant points - some ramblings about a Source and alternative dimensions, that kind of nonsense - until he hit upon an interesting passage: 

_ ‘Drawing from the songs and writings of countless civilisations, theologians believe prehistory to be a tempestuous time of uncontrolled creation overseen by a mercurial god or gods - creation which abruptly ends with the destruction of all that exists, ultimately allowing for the rise of mankind from the wreckage. Historians and scholars of biological fields, on the other hand, claim that mankind could not have simply ‘appeared’ and suggest an evolution of the species in the thousand thousand years preceding the first calamity. What the two groups do, however, agree upon is that modern history begins with the First Umbral Era.’ _

Prometheus stopped reading, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared sightlessly at the gutted Reaper console in front of him. 

_ ...tempestuous time of uncontrolled creation…  _

Could that be…?

Prometheus thumbed through the book, but the rest were just unsubstantiated tales or legends about time before the First Umbral Era. A collection of creation myths from a myriad of eras and cultures that would have made him smile indulgently at the ignorance of them - if all of them didn’t draw so many uncomfortable parallels to the Doom from before. 

The God (or Gods) losing control of their powers. Creation running wild. A Calamity. Everything dying. Mankind rising from the wreckage, their origins a mystery. 

Every single myth held those common themes. 

What did that mean? Mankind didn’t exist in his time - well, not as a sapient species, anyways. Their technology level had been primitive stone tools at best, their culture akin to that of a family of apes. Nothing more than animals, really. So, how would they have advanced so rapidly from Amaurot’s downfall, enough so to become their inheritors?

And how did they…?

Prometheus felt a headache start to throb behind his eyes the more he tried to dwell on it. He didn’t even  _ recall _ how… Amaurot died. It did, didn’t it? Yes, he remembered… Hydaelyn’s purpose had been to cleanse and mitigate both Zodiark and Terminus, to…

To…?

Hydaelyn had… to… the… 

Terminus… 

“Fuck,” he muttered, closing the book and leaning forwards so his forehead pressed against the cool, metal console, breathing heavily through his nose. The gaping holes in his memory  _ ached, _ sharp, starbursts of light behind his eyelids the more he clawed at them. His thoughts kept trying to skip over them, slide over and forget, but he dug his fingers in, breathing hard through his nose as he  _ forced _ himself to  _ look- _

He should  _ remember. _

Why couldn’t he remember?

Hydaelyn- he- ordered- her- to-

What?

Terminus. It was- Terminus- it- Hydaelyn- had- to-

What?

Prometheus exhaled shakily, straightening up as he let the thought drop. He couldn’t remember. It hurt to try. 

But he felt like the answer to this growing mystery was  _ there, _ in the empty, black spaces of his memories. It was aggravating and made him just want to- fucking-  _ scream. _ Why the hell was this star’s history so  _ crazy, _ what was with Mankind? Why was Hades here and whole, but no one else was? What the  _ fuck _ happened?

_ What happened!? _

Prometheus’s grip tightened around the book until his fingers hurt and his knuckles went white, then - slowly, tensely, let go. 

The book dropped into the footwell, and Prometheus focused on the console in front of him, shoving everything in his mind into a box to sort through later. He’ll dwell on it later. For now… for now, he had ten Reapers to fix for tomorrow morning. Then, after that, there was late afternoon training with Centurio Mateo, and then evening meal, then cleaning his kit, then sleeping, hopefully, if the nightmares didn’t keep waking him up and… 

Then everything all over again. 

Prometheus laughed, quietly, an ugly, wretched noise as he bent his head towards the console and resumed fixing it. As awful and stressful as this life was, at least it was bending into utter predictability. It gave him time to puzzle this whole mess out and maybe figure out what to do. 

One good thing about this, he supposed. 

* * *

A fine, drizzling rain had set in by late evening. Prometheus could hear the low, droning noise hitting the metal roof of their barracks, which gave their room an almost cosy air as he curled up in his bunk, snuggled up in warm blankets with his book open. He was thumbing through some of the more coherent ‘Creation myths’, trying to glean any facts through all the fanciful fiction. 

Him reading wasn’t unusual. Since becoming a Combat Engineer, his evenings had been filled with reading horrendously written Magitek manuals back to back and despairing over their inner workings. But, this was the first time he was seen with something other than a manual, which was why Ahyi paused on her way to her bunk above his. 

“First Umbral Era,” she read, stooping down to read the title, “You’re reading Creation myths?”

Prometheus peeked at her over his book, his eyebrows raised at her indulgent smile. 

“Midas gave it to me,” he said honestly, omitting the fact that he begged and pleaded with him to find this for him, “It’s kind of interesting.”

“Parents use that book as bedtime stories for their children,” Ahyi said, and she squatted down, resting her elbows on the edge of her bed, her chin resting in an upturned palm, “Well, any well-raised  _ Garlean _ child.”

“Which you clearly are,” Prometheus said dryly.

“Hm,” Ahyi grinned, bearing pearly white teeth, “We have our own creation myths.”

“We?”

“Roegadyns,” Ahyi said, “And Miqo’te. Didn’t your mother tell you any?”

“No,” Prometheus said, thinking back to Sehji’s pragmatic, quiet mothering. She was always focused on teaching him important life skills, weaving stories about paying respect to nature and life in general. Good old Amaurotine values that reminded him viscerally of Mentor Metis, “She didn’t.”

“I assumed, with a nickname like ‘Prom’...” Ahyi muttered.

Prometheus gave her a look of confusion, “Huh?” 

“You don’t know it?” Ahyi looked far too amused, “There’s a story about a group of Gods who got into an argument, though it focuses more on the fourteenth god called Prometheus-”

Oh. 

Prometheus’s grip on the book slackened, his stomach lurching with a cold, nauseous swoop that almost made him feel dizzy. 

“-who gave Mankind ‘knowledge’,” Ahyi said, oblivious to Prometheus’s abrupt distress, “The story changes depending on who you speak to. Sometimes the knowledge was fire, or a fruit that grew into a tree, or a ship? But, the story always ends with the other Gods getting very angry with Prometheus. They fight, a terrible battle that threatens to destroy the very world they swore to nurture, so they split the world into fourteen pieces to be guarded by each of them, but not before punishing Prometheus for his recklessness.”

“Oh?” Prometheus said blankly, barely recognising his breathy, high voice, “What’d… what punishment did he get?”

Ahyi shrugged, “That changes too. Some say he was hung, drawn and quartered. Others say he was carved into fourteen pieces and scattered between the worlds. Another says he was chained to a rock, to eternally have his liver devoured by a monster every day.”

Prometheus stayed quiet. He could hear his pulse pound in his ears. 

“But, it’s just a story,” Ahyi scoffed, leveraging herself back up and playfully swatting his shoulder, “Don’t make such a distressed face.”

Prometheus managed a weak smile, and Ahyi, probably thinking him a silly child needlessly worked up by dark stories, shook her head at him before climbing into her bunk. The frame trembled slightly from her movements, but Prometheus didn’t relax long after she settled down for the night. 

That story hadn’t been in the book. 

Was that a Roegadyn tale? A Miqo’te one? 

Did it really matter?

Prometheus slowly closed the book, his appetite for knowledge gone. That story was… uncomfortably close to the truth, distorted as it was. What did that mean? Splitting the world into fourteen…?

_ ‘...a theory that our world exists in a state of fragmentation, of a Source and thirteen reflections…’ _

“Can’t be…” he muttered under his breath, “That shouldn’t be possible…”

Ahyi shifted her weight in the bunk above, and he bit his tongue, stuffing the book under his pillow and tensely lying down, his mind whirling with possibilities.

Stars. 

There really was something wrong with this fucking planet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i agonised over this chapter quite a bit bc timeskips SUCK but in the end i decided to just go with this just so i didn't get stuck in a rut and never update again. pls ignore the clunkiness, this was necessary to move things along...


	17. Interlude: Letters I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this occurs during the mini time-skip in the last chapter. just some background info to some things...

_ Mum, _

_ I’m still alive. _

<strike> _ I’m not I hope you _ </strike>

_ I’m not sure how long it takes for letters to travel from Garlemald to our village. I sent this as the beginning of the Sixth Astral Moon, so hopefully that should give you a bit of a guess for how long it takes. _

<strike> _ I hope, I wish I was home _ </strike>

_ It’s not easy being here, but I’m being treated well. Three square meals a day, a lot of exercise, and a warm bed under a roof. I’ve been drafted into the Engineering Corps, where I’m told I should get citizenship for my services within the next three years, if I do well. I’m learning a lot, especially in regards to <strike>weaponry</strike> machinery and construction. <strike>I wonder if I'm scared that</strike> _

_ I hope you have a good winter, Mum. I’m sorry I’m not there. _

_ See you soon,  
_ _ Xaiaxu _

* * *

_ Observations of ShP (14) - SECRET (HIGH LEGATUS EYES ONLY) _

  * __Ill-balanced knowledge acquisition__
  * _LS contamination detected (subconscious communication? Affinity is as high as before but no springs formed in close vicinity so far (thank fuck))_
  * _T contamination detected (‘Doom Shrapnel’, as postulated by L @8AE)_
  * _H contamination absent (no Tempered behaviour observed or ‘Light Blessing’ detected within aetherical channels)_
  * _Realistic possibilityT contamination will increase w/o H mitigating _
  * _Z may mitigate T but ShP’s shard integrity is fragile. May not survive ascension_
  * _ShM theorises ShP is possible gateway for T into LS. Theory has merit_
  * _Continued observation recommended_

* * *

_ 1517 - 11 - 01 _

_ I still don’t get why we have to deal with paper reports when we can seal information in crystals, but if you want to play bureaucrat then fine, I’ll bite. C’s observations are clipped in here, for your reading. Simple matter to duplicate them, even if it was tedious doing it by hand. Just so you know I hate all this sneaking around behind E-S’s back, makes me have to do all kinds of tedious and _ human _ things since he can sniff out another person’s spells from a city away. _

_ My personal feelings on ShP is that E-S may be letting nostalgia get in the way of good sense. We’ve all seen how he is with that human child his body made. Far be it for me to question the ways of our Architect, but I can’t help but feel we’re weaving a little after hitting that dead-end a century back. We all know how apathetic he’s been getting recently. Still more tolerable than L’s behaviour, though. _

_ Regarding our ‘problem’: at the moment E-S is content to sit back and watch from a distance. For what, I don’t know, but it’s increasingly apparent there is something _ very wrong _ with ShP. I’ve met his other shards, and while they’d been blindingly obnoxious to be in the vicinity of, they were _ alive. _ I have no idea _ what _ that thing is. _

_ C says T contamination is fairly high in this one. Higher than in previous shards. He doesn’t have access to Creation but with such a strong link to LS, it is possible he could stimulate the beginnings of it. Be interesting to see the effects in Mankind, but we can’t really risk the Source right now. Worst comes to worst we can jettison ShP into the Void and let it be W0’s problem. _

_ Speaking of, how goes salvaging that mess? I’m aware Ig’s still torn up about her mistakes there, so if she needs a confidence boost, I could do with an extra pair of hands about. Especially with ShP the walking timebomb around. _

_ I’ll give you another update usual time. _

* * *

_ … Rabanastre would be an ideal location to erect a refuelling station. Its proximity to the Burn and with current limitations of Magitek flight, would grant us an advantage when we expand further into Othard. The Burn is simply to vast to traverse unless we want to carry an army’s worth of ceruleum with us - which would be disastrous. All it would take would be one errant flame, and that’s our campaign up in smoke! _

_ High Legatus Solus is in agreement with me and has ordered us to sort out the logistics to begin the Dalmasca campaign by next winter. You can deal with that part, while I sort out the more pertinent issue: our death trap Magitek. I’m pushing our engineering corps to create a Magitek bomber that won’t implode when a bird so much as farts on it, but they keep on whining about mass and lift or some rot like that. _

_ I’ve heard they have some new engineers that might sort the problem, though. Midas, from the Garlond family. You heard of him? A good, pureblooded Garlean from an old family. The other one is a ‘Prom’. I assume it’s short for Prompto or something. No family name was given, so I assume he’s some peasant Garlean from the frontier. _

_ Speaking of, I also need more warm bodies. With our successful reclamation of Ilsabard, we should widen the age gap for conscription and… _

* * *

_ My little kitten, _

_ You don’t know how relieved I was when I got your letter. I’m not ashamed to admit I wept in relief when I got it. I hope you’re being treated well, and no one is giving you any problems. I miss you, and I pray to Menphina for your safety every day. I don’t know if She hears me, but know the moon’s light and the darkness that accompanies Her is ever your friend. _

_ Your letter took two weeks to reach me, in case you were curious. Mine may take longer, if only because I sent along a care package for you. You probably don’t need it, but this winter is promising to be a harsh one, so I made you a warm sweater and a pair of gloves, just in case. I also slipped in some books a travelling merchant had been peddling in the village! They’re both novels from Eorzea, but I know how much you love your fantasy tales. _

_ I hope you stay safe. Please stay safe. I hear some concerning stories in the village from time to time, but I pray they’re only that: stories. _

_ With much love,   
_ _ Mum _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah, in case it isn't apparent, we're well and truly into the AU side of things now. The timeline has been tied into a pretzel and inside out, so we'll see how it turns out! I'll be interested to hear people's thoughts/predictions on what's gonna happen uwu 
> 
> thank you all for reading/commenting/kudosing, it really makes me happy ;w; thank you!


	18. Child of the Planet

They were given a new project when winter finally dug its claws in deep.

“I’m not sure how to go about it,” Midas admitted as the pair of them illegally repurposed some energy coils into makeshift radiators, “To increase armour would be to reduce mobility and lift. Decreasing armour would make it as flimsy as paper.”

Prometheus remained quiet, his nose buried into the plush collar of his sweater. The hanger was frigid, and even with his thick, woollen gloves, his fingers were stiff and clumsy from the chill. Somewhere above the hanger’s roof was rattling furiously from the howling blizzard outside, letting in a frigid draft that kept catching him by surprise every minute or so. 

“I suppose we could go about it if we increased engine power,” Midas muttered, mostly to himself as he tapped his wrench on the energy coil’s flimsy casing, “But that’ll require more fuel consumption. Where could it even go? If we’re to make room for its cargo… we could mount fuel tanks on the outside, but one lucky hit would have the whole thing explode.”

Prometheus tied off a copper wire and stood up, gently booting his makeshift radiator. It spluttered to life, a low whining thrum of fire-aspected aether humming through the air. It’d take a bit, but the coil would heat up enough so that Prometheus wasn’t in danger of  _ freezing to death _ inside this death trap of a hanger. 

“What do you think, Prom?”

“Hm?” Prometheus turned to Midas, who was still squatting on the floor in front of his half-done radiator, “Think about what?”

Midas gave him an exasperated look, “The Magitek bombers? You know, the ones with the unfortunate  _ quirk _ of  _ randomly exploding? _ ”

“Well, first of all,” Prometheus started lightly, “They’re shoddily made.”

Midas sighed, “Prom…” 

“I understand the benefits of mass production,” Prometheus continued, “But doing it with cheap, inferior materials negates that benefit when your glorious weapons of mass destruction are easily stopped by an angry flock of geese.”

Midas looked vaguely constipated. That incident was still a deep sore spot for him, even though it hadn’t been his fault. Who could have predicted the destructive power of twenty geese concentrating their fury on a very delicate Magitek bomber? 

“I’m aware of the quality issue,” Midas muttered, tugging his fingers through his hair, “And I’ve flagged it, but you know how the higher ups are like…”

Prometheus made a sympathetic noise. Luckily, being a lowly Miqo’te of no note, he didn’t have to suffer briefing the higher ups on the status of the Magitek and  _ why _ they weren’t functioning as well as High Legatus Solus promised they would. In Prometheus’s opinion, ‘Solus’ should be here defending his shittily made automaton knock offs, not poor Midas who was doing  _ brilliantly _ keeping those death traps mostly fatal towards enemies, rather than their own  _ pilots. _

“To be honest, we should redesign them completely,” Prometheus said, “Make them better.”

Midas stared at him, “They’re as good as they can be.”

“No,” Prometheus sighed, “They’re really not. Look- for starters…  _ ceruleum? _ Why? It’s such an unstable  _ flammatory _ fuel source, especially if it’s gonna have angry mages lobbing fireballs at them. Deflective armour is only going to do so much after a while.”

“Because we need the engine, and nothing else really matches the output of a ceruleum engine,” Midas said, “Except one that uses fossil fuels, but that has its own problems. Do you know how much petrol goes for nowadays? It’d be cheaper to buy a room in the Senate!”

Yes, ‘black gold’ was horrifically expensive, considering Garlemald didn’t have any oil wells within its territory and none of its neighbours were inclined to trade it, “I’m thinking of something cleaner than fossil fuels.”

Midas eyed him, “Cleaner?”

Prometheus glanced down at his feet. There was several fulms worth of concrete and metal separating him from the earth, but he could still feel it, that ebb and flow of power. It was thinner than he remembered, not as dense and laced with that Light entity’s aether, but it was still  _ exploitable, _ in moderation. And, honestly, fuelling an army’s worth of decent Magitek would use less than what the Amaurotines did for their experiments… 

But he’d have to explain its origins, and he wasn’t even sure if he could extract it safely. Then there was humanity’s natural greed, a trait he was slowly understanding was a warped reflection of an Amaurotine’s unending curiosity to  _ know. _ The humans would want more of it, to exploit it to death - potentially literally, since they could drain this star dry and kill themselves. 

But, perhaps if he obscufated its origins…? Maybe he could… 

“I… have an idea,” Prometheus said slowly, “An invention, but, it’s very experimental, and if it goes wrong, it’ll go  _ really _ wrong.”

Instead of being wary, Midas immediately looked intrigued, “More of this ‘Sharlayan’ learning of yours?”

Prometheus stifled a wince. He knew for a fact that Midas saw through his ‘I read this in a Sharlayan book’ bullshit for technical things he  _ shouldn’t _ know, but Prometheus never knew how to approach it. Midas seemed content to let him keep up the charade, more interested in the  _ results _ of Prometheus’s knowledge, rather than its origins, though he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing yet. Surely a normal person would be alarmed at some random Miqo’te from the woods mysteriously knowing the intricacies of ballistic missile systems?

But, he was a coward, so he left it alone. It was easier to deal with like that. 

“Uh, yeah,” Prometheus coughed awkwardly, “So, um, this experiment. I won’t go into details but I  _ might _ have an engine that runs cleanly, safely  _ and _ outputs more power than a ceruleum one.”

“That’d be an invention to trump High Legatus Solus’s Magitek engine,” Midas said slowly, “Enough so that many would overlook your… origins.”

“My race, you mean,” Prometheus said dryly, “Well, yeah, probably, but I don’t care about that. What I  _ do _ care about is not getting people stuffed into those walking timebombs and blowing up randomly… especially in the middle of a battlefield, where there’s already going to be ten million explosions happening at once anyways.” 

“Fair point…” Midas scratched at his jaw, “But, are you sure?”

“Huh?”

“I’m aware that you’re uncomfortable with these Magitek being used for war,” Midas said, “Which is why I never really pressured you into working on the weapon systems, but… you know, if this ‘experiment’ works, your engine will be mounted into every Magitek weapon we have. So…”

Prometheus hesitated. He hadn’t realised he’d been so obvious with his distaste towards the war. He always thought it such a pointless waste of potential, especially as the only way these little mortals could kill each other was in painful, messy ways. No painless sublimation, just dirty, filthy moments where they all died like common animals. Pointlessly. 

The thought of contributing to that… it wasn’t as if he could stop the war as is. So, all he could do was try to mitigate the amount of bodies, to create more efficient weapons that were likely to kill cleanly, than maim brutally, to lessen casualties on  _ their _ side and...

Prometheus had too many moral dilemmas to fret over right now, so he boxed it up and stuffed it down, imagining stamping it down with his feet so it stayed there longer. He’ll… think about it later, much later, if the experiment succeeded. 

“I’ll deal with that later,” he said blithely, looking away when Midas opened his mouth to protest, “Anyway! I’d like your permission to, um, make a working prototype, and, we can test it, and you can present it to Centurio Celeste or something. I’ll give you the schematics and stuff, and you can say you made it.”

_ “Me?” _ Midas sounded offended, “I’m not going to take credit for your work!” 

“Well, I don’t want credit for it,” Prometheus muttered, “And, look, getting too much attention as a Miqo’te, it’s not good, Midas. Especially here…” 

Midas made a few choice noises that sounded like bitten down curses, “Your invention could vastly improve your situation, Prom,” he said tensely, “You could be promoted to  _ Centurio, _ and never have to worry about having ‘too much attention’ again. I’m not taking that away from you.” 

Ugh, the one time Prometheus wanted Midas to be a selfish guy…

“Let’s talk about it later, when we actually have a working prototype going,” Prometheus said, “Okay? So, anyway, this is the basic idea behind my engine…”

* * *

They finished the schematics draft by the end of their shift. 

Midas had been the most excited out of the both of them once they really got to brainstorming, and after a while Prometheus had simply given him the few bits of information he required from a technical standpoint and let him go to town. For a young soul, he was bright and creative and  _ terrifyingly _ intelligent. If he’d been an Amaurotine, he definitely would’ve been a scholar in the Akadaemia. 

_ One of Lahabrea’s students, probably, _ he thought wryly, tugging his coat shut before stepping outside into the cold. 

It was night, but the streetlights lit everything up painfully bright. Snow was still falling, sharp and freezing, and the it was thick and up to his knees. Looked like the grit they put down this morning did  _ fuck all. _

“Ugh,” he muttered, starting the slow wade back towards his bunk. 

The shit weather meant one good thing, though: there was barely anyone out and about. With the air so cold it froze your lungs, most sane people were huddled up nice and warm in their barracks. Unless they were on roaming patrols, in which case their focus was more on how shit their situation was, and not what some passing Miqo’te in uniform was doing. 

His laboured wading slowed at the realisation, and he stood in the middle of the main thoroughfare completely alone. 

He was near the hangers, which were already quite a distance from the residential bunks. The open space in between was used to stow the Magitek vehicles, large and hulking, their frozen, metal carapaces glinting from the glaringly bright streetlights. At some point a patrol would walk by, but he doubted they would pay much attention to the dark spaces in between the stationary vehicles. 

After one last check that he was alone, he ducked into one of those empty, dark spaces. The snow had piled up even higher here, a faint smell of spilled ceruleum fuel lingering, but Prometheus ignored it as he tugged his coat tighter around him, letting his focus expand outwards. 

This revolutionary, efficient and  _ safe _ engine of his relied on one thing, and now was the time to see if it could be done. 

The Lifestream was both everywhere and below his feet. Ambient aether channels, invisible to the mundane eye, swirled around them, linking nexus points like a type of leyline. This was the ‘fresh’ Lifestream, new aether that rushed along ancient channels, revitalising yet receptive to manipulation. This was what most people meant when they said ‘Lifestream’, though, really, it was more like air. It was as vital as the nitrogen-oxygen rich atmosphere of this star. If there was none of this ‘fresh’ aether, people would suffocate. Slowly, painfully. 

Then you had the  _ Lifestream. _ This was visible to the mundane eye, but it resided deep beneath the planet’s crust, frothing and molten as lava. It was old aether, ancient and formed from millions and millions of souls all dying and returning to the earth and reincarnating and dying all over again. The channels this aether followed were too dangerous for a soul to traverse, even for Prometheus, and they cycled through the heart of the star itself. It was  _ lifeblood _ , as destructive as it was revitalising, and it was  _ powerful.  _

To use it was to wield the power of the star itself. It was why he’d been so opposed to the Zodiark plan. ‘To imbue the star with a will’ - it already had a will! An ancient, primordial will, wiser than those insignificant glints of light Amaurotines had been in comparison! Zodiark would have been a parasite, a tick dangling from it, and so…

Prometheus stopped that line of thought, breathing through the bubble of ancient, compressed rage he’d been suffocating. He can’t let that consume him. It was in the past, and unhelpful to dwell on. Now, focus. 

He unfurled his soul a fraction - cautiously, a mere, microscopic crack, hyperaware of attracting Zodiark or Hades’s attention. After a long moment, where the camp remained quiet, the faded, fireflies of the mortals’ souls lazily flickering around him, he reached out a bit deeper. 

Through the haze of the ‘Lifestream’, deeper, to the sloshing, bubbling thump of this star’s heart. He could feel it like the pounding of a drum in his bone marrow, warmth blooming deep in his chest and chasing the chill digging into him. A rush of familiarity, faint touch like mother’s, Metis, warm, open arms, thump of the heart, drawing him in, deeper, warm, like- 

_ irecogniseyoulittlebirdchildoftheplanetirecomeintomyheartshowme _

Prometheus jerked out of it when his heart gave a very strained, agonising  _ squeeze. _

The world swirled in a nauseating blur of greyish colour, and he realised he was slumped on his knees, his cheek pressed against the frozen treads of a Magitek vehicle. He felt raw, like his insides had been scooped up, and drunkenly he realised he’d reached out  _ too _ much there. Shit. He hadn’t even realised, hadn’t even  _ noticed _ the Lifestream trying to unhook his soul and whisk it away. 

It took him a few tries to stand up. The violent shaking of his limbs, the nausea doggedly clenching his belly, and the sloshing, woozy dizziness… aether sickness, really? Ugh, it was his own fault. In retrospect, that was really stupid of him…

Yet, illuminating. If he was to extract  _ mako _ for this engine of his, he needed to find another way. 

He got his bearings once he was mostly vertical, watching his laboured breathing mist the air before him, straining his senses. Nothing stirred in the aether, no flash of Zodiark or Hades or any of his potential stooges - his near-miss had gone entirely unnoticed. Good. That would’ve been awkward to explain away. 

There was a part of him, though, a very tiny, regretful part, that wished the Lifestream had whisked him away. It was always so calming, so warm, to rest in there. He had vague memories, from Before, where its eldritch, alien singing had coaxed him to sleep, when he spent many a night trying to learn its secrets. It was probably weird, that he had felt more affinity for some ancient, inhuman entity than his own people, but…

Prometheus sighed, and staggered out into the freezing cold snow. He can’t return to the planet just yet. He had to solve this mystery with Hades, and Zodiark, and figure out what they were doing and how to stop it, if necessary. 

What was that mortal saying? Ah, yes...

He’ll sleep when he’s dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone look i have the 2b outfit for aza at long last: https://twitter.com/kivaember/status/1189297127459086336


	19. Chapter 19

It was Inspection Day. 

Capitals intended, since it was apparently a  _ very important time _ for the Engineering Corps. Prometheus ended up getting whisked up in the frenzy of activity when he stepped into the hanger that morning, bewildered and alarmed when a grim-faced Midas ushered him into one of the more solitary sections of the hangers where visitors rarely went to - the scrap-dump, to be exact. 

“Best you stay out of underfoot,” he said when Prometheus asked, handing him a toolbox and safety goggles (adjusted for Miqo’te use),  _ “Literally.  _ If anyone asks what you’re doing, you’re salvaging parts, and if they have a problem with that, point them my way.”

Alarming. 

Prometheus somewhat understood why he was being stuffed into a corner when important days were happening though. He was the lone Miqo’te marring the prestigious new Corps’ name that was meant to represent Garlean superiority. He was the most skilled, and knowledgeable, engineer, outstripping even their brightest star, Midas - and that was an embarrassing fact that should be swept under the rug, out of sight. Really, Prometheus didn’t mind; he wasn’t interested in making friends with the rest of the engineers (being bumbling, ignorant children, who sneered at him when his back was turned), and he was trying to maintain a low profile. So, he did as he was told and hid in his little scrap heap, while the rest of the hanger buzzed like a kicked wasp nest. 

It was almost zenlike, really. The scrapheap was closed off - an upturned shipping container with mountains of discarded scrap that was a safety hazard waiting to kill someone one day. Sitting inside of it, Prometheus couldn’t discern what was happening outside, but it was better that way. No doubt ‘Inspection Day’ was when some puffed up, pompous high rank Garlean wanted to wander about amongst the peasants to feel important, and Prometheus, being the biggest peasant of them all by virtue of being a ‘Cat’, did not feel like becoming a target of such a dangerous predator this morning. 

He had bigger worries, like, how to create the fuel for his and Midas’s new engine. Direct extraction of Mako wasn’t going to work - well, unless Prometheus wanted to make himself violently ill from prolonged aether sickness which,  _ no thank you _ \- so he might have to use a medium. Maybe he could bastardise his  _ Armiger _ process? He’ll have to improvise a lot of the procedure, and he wasn’t sure of his skill in excising the necessary soul splinter to act as its base, but maybe he could use a core - a heartstone, maybe? Several crystals to give him the  _ oomph _ necessary for the ritual, and plenty of begging of the Lifestream to be generous… though, it was a very  _ noticeable _ ritual, it might draw Hades’s attention…

It’d mean the engine couldn’t be mass-produced either.  _ Ugh, _ why was being a weak mortal so  _ hard? _ If only he could extract only a  _ cup’s _ worth of mako, he could-

“This is where you store your scrap? It looks rather unsafe- oh, who’s this?”

Prometheus’s head snapped up from where he’d been glowering at a bent piece of metal in his hands, startled out of his thoughts. Someone had stepped into the scrapheap, ducking beneath the low entrance of the shipping container before straightening up into a tall, proud stance. A woman. Garlean. Platinum blond hair pulled back into a tight bun, and dressed in the crisp, dark uniform of a  _ tribunus. _

He went still, frozen in place as the woman pinned him down with cool, blue eyes. She reminded him of an icicle; glacial, precise, and very willing to skewer him if he let his attention wander at a fatal moment. 

“Who’s this?” The  _ tribunus _ repeated, her voice low and husky - refined. Definitely upper class. 

“T-That’s Legionarius Xaiaxu, Tribunus,” someone answered, and from behind her stumbled in an unwelcome face: Justus  _ kir  _ Lux. The veteran engineer (though Prometheus only used the term ‘veteran’ mockingly in his case) who wormed his way into a supervising position due to his blood, standing and, irritably, his quick grasp on science. He knew less than Prometheus, but he was a quick learner… he was just irritatingly  _ smug _ about it, and was a bigot. Lux despised Prometheus, and Prometheus disdained him. It was a relationship managed only by the pair of them aggressively ignoring each others’ existences. It worked. 

Lux was, also, a very pretty face, which Prometheus found annoying for reasons he couldn’t place. He reminded him of Lahabrea. 

“Xaiaxu…” The  _ tribunus _ repeated, placing her hands on her curvy hips. Though her uniform had a slimming effect, it did nothing to hide the thick, powerful muscles on her legs and arms. Prometheus eyed her warily, “Ah, I remember. The Miqo’te who passed the Engineering Aptitude Test with flying colours.”

Prometheus glanced at Lux, who looked like he just swallowed a lemon. 

“Yes, that’s him,” Lux muttered, “Though, he’s, er, very shy, so that’s why he’s managing the scrap today…”

“How considerate,” The  _ tribunus _ said, in a low, indulgent tone that said she knew that was bullshit, “Hm, well, I’m very curious about you Xaiaxu. How does a foreign Miqo’te know so much about Garlean engineering, hm?”

Prometheus hesitated, looking at Lux again. The man was moving his eyebrows up and down and giving him a meaningful look - Prometheus had no clue what that expression meant, “Um. I… read a lot of books? Uh, ma’am?”

“Books,” The  _ tribunus _ repeated, “Hm.”

Lux coughed, “Ah, Tribunus, perhaps we should…?”

“Oh, Solus can wait,” the  _ tribunus _ scoffed, waving her hand dismissively, and took several steps closer to Prometheus, “He can sweat under Midas’s criticisms of his toys a little longer.”

Prometheus clutched the bent plate in his hands closer to his chest, like it was a physical shield, hating himself for the way his pulse jumped at the mention of  _ Solus _ \- Hades. He was  _ here _ ? In this  _ building? _

He hadn’t sensed him, at all! Was he somehow… hiding his presence? Was that why Prometheus hadn’t sensed him this last week? He assumed he’d left, gone somewhere to do whatever it is he does in his free time - shit, what if Hades had been  _ spying _ on him, and Prometheus hadn’t known? Shit, shit, shit-

“No need to look so frightened,” the  _ tribunus _ laughed, clearly misinterpreting the look of sheer panic on his face, “I won’t eat you. Here, let me introduce myself: I am Tribunus Olivia  _ tol  _ Galvus, second in command to High Legatus Solus  _ van _ Galvus. You are Xaiaxu?”

“Um,” Prometheus felt trapped. There was only one exit out of the scrapheap, and both the  _ tribunus _ and Lux were in the way. Galvus - was this woman a relative of ‘Solus’? She looked nothing like Hades’s current form. A distant relative? They were one of the old families, so, Solus probably had ten million cousins sharing the same family name, no doubt. What if, she was one of Zodiark’s ilk, though? If Prometheus could no longer sense Hades’s soul, then, she could be concealing… 

No, okay, don’t freak out. You have to appear normal to these people. 

“Yes, I’m… Xaiaxu. Ma’am. Uh, though, everyone calls me ‘Prom’.”

“Prom?” the  _ tribunus _ , Olivia, tilted her head curiously, reminding Prometheus viscerally of a bird of prey, “A curious nickname.”

“Haha, yeah, it’s… easier to say for, people,” Prometheus said stiltedly. His palms were feeling sweaty, “You know. Uh, ma’am.”

“Hmm…” Olivia stared him down for a long moment. Prometheus didn’t dare to breathe, “I see.”

A very awkward pause happened then. One where Prometheus and Olivia stared at each other, predator staring down frozen prey, while Lux fidgeted impatiently in the background. It was broken only when Prometheus abruptly coughed, the dry, cold air catching in his throat. 

Olivia blinked, and the terrifying spell was broken when she leaned back on her heels with a sigh, “You weren’t exaggerating his shyness,” she told Lux over her shoulder. 

“He’s a good engineer, but poor at socialising,” Lux agreed quickly, “Now, the High Legatus…?”

“Oh, fine,” Olivia glanced back at Prometheus, “I’m curious to see how far you’ll go, Prom. It’s not easy, finding your place in a world made only for one type of person. I wish you luck.”

With that, the terrifying woman left with Lux in tow, leaving Prometheus pale-faced and sweaty. He exhaled shakily, dropping the scrapmetal on his lap and scrubbing at his face, cursing his weak heart. Stars, he was so sick of being scared of everything. 

But, that was another name to put on the list: Olivia  _ tol _ Galvus. Potentially a Zodiark cronie. Maybe? Also, time to figure out how Hades is concealing his presence. After he ironed out the whole, fuel problem with his new, less lethal engine. And… figure out what the fuck is happening in general. 

Prometheus stared at his warped reflection in the metal, looking as tired as he felt. Ignorance was such a bliss. If only he’d been left alone in the woods, he would’ve avoided all this stress. 

But, that meeting… it did give him an idea. He was sick of being scared, and, the engine required a fuel source, a bastardised  _ armiger _ ritual, except, the modified one, like he did with  _ Lazarus _ … ah.

The answer was incredibly simple. It’ll be energy intensive, but Prometheus could mass-produce the source after getting enough originals to base copies off. If it worked, well, the Magitek would be less likely to  _ kill _ their own pilots and work far more efficiently - without stinking of Ceruleum either. It was a pointless achievement in the grand scheme of things, but it was an achievement all the same. It’d free up a lot of Prometheus’s time in any case, having machines that didn’t break down every single hour of the day. 

Prometheus just needed one tiny, little thing: a soulstone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short update but finally, the last important OC has been introduced! That means I can finally focus on punting the plot forwards in leaps and bounds! 
> 
> also, i feel like i should clarify: this fic is well into pre-canon AU territory at this point, and I have fiddled with the timeline by quite a bit, as you might've noticed. SO best to approach what happens next knowing it's an AU haaaaa...


	20. Interlude: Olivia I

Solus was in a mood again. 

Olivia huffed quietly at seeing him sulk amongst a twittering crowd of sycophants - the military officers all wishing to rub elbows with the rising star that was High Legatus Solus, in hopes that some of his good fortune would roll downhill onto them. It never did, as Solus was a selfish shrew, but still they tried… she supposed she had to commend their persistence. 

She let him sweat for a bit, hiding in the dark shadow of a deactivated magitek colossus. Her engineer guide, Lux, had already been shooed away, so she was left to her own devices for once, to chew over what she had observed of their rapidly evolving military. 

Olivia was… concerned. 

The introduction of such advanced technology into an outdated military model, as well as the mass conscription from both sovereign and newly occupied territories, had left fatal gaps in both the logistical and administrative sides of the Garlean Republic Army. They were strapped for cash, to put it bluntly, only able to fund and feed their swelling military by plundering their neighbours for their resources. For the moment, it was a reliable and stable means of sustainment - but Olivia knew it was only a matter of time until it crashed  _ explosively. _

Already their resources were stretched to their absolute limits. While they had the manpower, they didn’t have the  _ skill _ to manage such long supply lines across various terrains, almost all of them maintained by unwilling conscripts. The conscripts wouldn’t dare desert, not with their homes and families held literally at ransom, but unhappy, resentful workers were not  _ productive _ or  _ loyal _ workers, and they needed both if they were going to sort this growing mess out. 

Too many unhappy conscripts, stretched resources, their main supply lines being spoils of war from occupied territories, and then this newest bit of concern: their damned magitek. 

A work of art, these weapons of war, but they were crap. They were loud, guzzled ceruleum, expensive, broke down a lot, were ugly, simple, clumsy and  _ unreliable _ … yet they were everything their restructured army was based around! Geniuses like Midas and Lux and, now, this curious Miqo’te ‘Prom’, ensured that their Magitek chugged along enough to continue smashing their neighbours, but it was a ridiculous waste.

All because Solus was  _ lazy. _

“Or, perhaps, he just doesn’t care…” Olivia grumbled, pressing her fingers to her temple in irritation. Solus was damnably apathetic about Garlemald’s future, despite being the best strategist their army had ever seen. If Olivia didn’t know any better, she’d think Solus was intentionally positioning their burgeoning Empire to crash and burn within a generation or two.

She could count on one hand the amount of times she ever saw Solus  _ genuinely _ interested or excited about anything, and one of them… 

Hm, one of them was that  _ Miqo’te. _

Olivia eyed Solus, seeing the sycophant crowd start to thin out when Solus began waving them away irritably. Now, that was a mystery she was curious about. 

Pushing off the leg of the magitek colossus, she swaggered over to Solus the moment the last of the military officers scurried away, leaving the legatus all to her. She smirked when Solus glanced her way, his irritated expression becoming comically pained the second he laid eyes on her. 

“Ah,” Solus sighed, “Great. You’re back.”

“Don’t sound too enthused now,” Olivia said, “How did your Q&A go with young Midas?”

Solus gave her a dull look. 

“That well?” Olivia gave him a smug smile, “Hm, well, if you didn’t design such shambolic magitek, you might have been spared having your ear nagged off. Which reminds me,  _ why  _ is the Reaper cockpit so exposed? You may as well make it mandatory for the pilots to have targets painted on their helms, with how little protection they’re offered despite being the most high valued target on any battlefield.”

“If you’re so curious, you can ask Midas for the answer,” Solus said snidely, pushing his grey streaked hair out of his eyes, “What about your inspection?”

“This place is a death trap. Remind me to scold Centurio Celeste for her lax health and safety policies,” Olivia said, and smiled as she added, “I also found something interesting.”

“Really,” Solus muttered, clearly half-listening as he shuffled through some papers he was holding. Notes, most likely, that Midas forced upon him. 

“Little Prom,” Olivia said, watching as Solus… didn’t outwardly react as such, but his focus very obviously shifted from his papers to her, “I see why you’re so interested in him. He  _ is _ rather cute, isn’t he? In a scared rabbit kind of way.”

Solus frowned, “What are you talking about? Who’s Prom?”

“Who’s Prom? Really, playing  _ that _ game are we?” Olivia drawled, “I’m not  _ oblivious, _ despite you desperately wishing otherwise. Your little Centurio rats are so eagerly spying on that poor boy’s every move that they’re stepping on  _ my _ rats’ toes. Now,” she added coyly, “I was aware your tastes laid elsewhere, considering our very disappointing wedding night, but you  _ do _ realise that as High Legatus, you could just order that boy to-”

“Olivia.”

She obediently stopped, easing back on her heels with a smile. Solus was angry, it was clear to see, and she felt satisfaction coil in her like a viper eyeing up a mouse. 

“If  _ I _ have noticed, others have, is what I’m saying,” Olivia said, unflinchingly meeting that cold, flat gaze, “So, I pose the question back to you: who’s Prom?”

Solus exhaled shortly, folding up the papers in his hands, “That  _ is _ the question, isn’t it…”

“Hm?”

“It will become clear in time,  _ dear,” _ Solus said, and cocked his head towards the workshop’s entrance, “But if only to sate your  _ insatiable _ curiosity, I hope he will become an  _ invaluable _ asset in due time. Until he matures a little more, it wouldn’t do to see him fall into… another’s sphere of influence.”

“Hm,” Olivia felt like that wasn’t the whole truth, but it sounded logical enough. She accepted that answer for now, “Then I’ll keep an eye on him too.”

“That isn’t nece-”

“Oh, but it is,” Olivia gripped Solus’s elbow, steering him towards the workshop’s entrance, “It’s so rare to see you so invested in something, it’d be a shame if something happened to him. Also, consider it a litmus test: if I catch you snapping that boy up, then you need to be more discreet about it. If I don’t know about it, then no one  _ else _ will.”

“Why are you like this?”

Olivia laughed, short and huskily, “Because you  _ let _ me be like this. Which is why we work so well together, yes? Gods, could you imagine if our families forced us to marry some  _ other _ highborn? I think we both would have been widows within the week.”

Solus grunted, which meant he agreed with her assessment. Ah, this was why, as infuriating and boring as this man was, Olivia was grateful it was him who was arranged for her. He cared so little of her personal affairs, and ignored the quiet protestations of her meteoric rise in the military, that it granted her a freedom she never had whilst playing the role of demure noble lady awaiting a suitor. 

He let her enjoy her life, and she turned a blind eye to his…  _ oddities. _

A marriage that worked well, if only because they both neglected it.


	21. Interlude: ??? I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a weird one, just so you're forewarned

_ 9 Years Earlier…  _

_ Lazarus [Version 982.0.10000001] _

_ AE:\Users\Lazarus\chkdsk P: /f _

_ … _

_ … _

_ Access Denied. You do not have sufficient privileges. You have to invoke this utility running in elevated mode.  _

_ AE:\Users\Lazarus>_ _

_ AE:\Users\Lazarus\System64\runas.exe /noprofile /user:Prometheus cmd _

_ … _

_ … _

_ AE:\Users\Prometheus>_ _

_ AE:\Users\Prometheus\chkdsk P:  _

_ … _

_ … _

_ The type of the file system is _ ** _ �îât»� õ._ **

_ WARNING! F parameter not specified.  _

_ Running CHKDSK in read-only mode. _

_ CHKDSK is verifying files <stage 1 of 3>... _

_ 10247118347 file records processed.  _

_ File verification completed.  _

_ 967253781 large file records processed.  _

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_ ERROR. Failure to verify. _

_ Process Aborted. _

_ Lazarus has checked the file system and found problems. Please run a /scan to find the problems and queue them for repair.  _

_ … _

_ … _

_ AE:\Users\Prometheus>_ _

_ … _

_ AE:\Users\Prometheus\chkdsk /scan _

_ The type of the file system is  _ ** _�îât»� õ_ ** _ . _

_ Cannot lock current drive.  _

_ … _

_ … _

_ CHKDSK cannot run because the volume is in use by another process. Would you like to schedule this volume to be checked the next time the system restarts? (Y/N) _

_ … _

_ … _

_ Y _

_ … _

_ … _

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_ REBOOT ABORTED. _

_ MEMORY DRIVE P: CORRUPTED.  _

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_ … _

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_ REBOOT TO LAZARUS.  _

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_ INITIALISATION SUCCESSFUL.  _

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_ Present day:  _

** _�ûgôüé…._ **


	22. Prom & Hades

By the arrival of the new month, the winter had truly dug itself in to stay. 

Temperatures plunged to arctic levels, steep enough that escaping the barracks required an unyielding shoulder, as the door froze shut on a near hourly basis. The quartermasters kitted out the conscripts and soldiers alike with extreme weather gear to take the edge of the freeze, and the med centre suffered a large influx of frostbitten and hypothermic victims. Despite the risk to their soldiers, the Garlean Army’s command still ordered them to continue their duties, even if said duties involved standing guard in sub-zero conditions for several hours, exposed to the elements in an open sanger.

Those native to Garlemald suffered through the abysmal winter as they always did: with grim, resigned determination. In fact, there was a lot of joking that the winter was  _ mild _ this year, as the biting cold wasn’t accompanied by the dreaded  _ blizzards _ that were notorious for burying the capital in tens of fulms worth of snow - or bringing winds so vicious and powerful, it whipped up frozen chunks of ice and smashed down buildings and stone walls like they were nothing more than flimsy paper. 

Honestly, Prometheus thought they were tempting Fate a bit too much. There was still another two months left of Garlean Winter for the  _ blizzards _ to visit hell upon them. 

It didn’t help that the capital was so different to the woods back home. For Prometheus, winter was gathering enough supplies to last two of the worst winter months and digging in, essentially hibernating and being sheltered from the worst of the  _ blizzards _ by the steep slopes of the mountains and the thick, ancient woods their home resided in. The capital was exposed, the ring of mountains surrounding the city mitigating only so much of the winter, and the daily morning parades were still conducted. 

Once, when Amaurot still stood, Prometheus had confidently stated that the worst torture someone could endure was Aether Poisoning, a rather serious step-up from Aether Sickness that resulted in the victim being bedridden and dangerously ill and fatigued. Now, after enduring a week of Garlean Winter as a lowly conscript, Prometheus revised his opinion. As a conscript, even if he was part of the prestigious  _ Engineering Corps, _ he was damned to attend to the menial of tasks with the rest of his kind: the conscripted Hrothgar and Miqo’te, as some Garlean  _ twat  _ thought “fur = immunity to cold”. 

Fur did not equal immunity to cold. 

“I h-hate… this…  _ place, _ ” Prometheus hissed past chattering teeth, shoulders burning from exertion as he shovelled another thick chunk of snow off the edge of the parade square. It was the coldest morning of that month, and he had to stop every few minutes to gently rub the frost off his eyelashes, his scarf pulled up over his nose in an attempt to protect it from any potential frostbite. His scarf crackled every time he moved from the moisture of his breathing freezing inside the thick fabric.

Not far from him, his roommates were diligently continuing the backbreaking work with their heads bent low. Prometheus understood their single-mindedness; the cold was so absolute that the only way to stay warm  _ was _ to keep working. The second you stopped was the moment you realised just how frigid it was, and sweat was surprisingly quick to chill at these temperatures, even with the thick, quilted layers underneath their armour. 

Prometheus scowled as he jammed the edge of his shovel into another chunk of snow, working hard to break up the frozen snow as best he could. Not for the first time he wished he had access to his old magic. He could have melted all this snow with a snap of his fingers, or created some sort of climate control system to make Garlean weather more temperate. Hn, in fact, why hadn’t Hades done that? It was well within his power to stop these extreme weather phenomena for the betterment of these people. 

_ You know why, _ a small voice muttered bitterly in the back of his mind,  _ It’s because he doesn’t care.  _

Yeah. Hades never cared about the ‘lesser beings’. Stars, Prometheus had been such an  _ idiot, _ he never thought that as a red flag. Probably because he too never really cared about the ‘lesser beings’, either. Thought them quaint, primitive little amusements, even subjugated a few to some social experiments out of curiosity back in the day…

Prometheus aggressively tossed his frozen chunks of snow to the side, angry at himself, at Hades, at life in general… just hating everything. This whole situation was just pissing him off, eclipsing the near-constant anxiety that lingered over him like a black cloud. He was gonna snap soon, erupt like a fucking volcano of  _ crazy _ and- damn, he didn’t know what he’d do. Compromise himself, maybe, or get locked up in the cells for punching out the next Garlean officer to tell him to  _ shovel more  _ ** _snow_ ** -

_ I’m older than all of their civilisations put together! _ Something nasty and seething hissed deep, deep, deep inside of him,  _ They should be grovelling at my feet begging for my knowledge and wisdom, not ordering me about like I’m some- _

_ Some what? _ Prometheus asked himself.

He didn’t finish the thought, but it lingered unsaid right in the forefront of his mind. That something felt like a separate entity sometimes, an unrecognisable, festering pit of resentment and rage that had taken on a life of its own. Most days Prometheus was able to ignore it, but some, like today, his own anger ran too hot to completely silence it. It practically fed off his irritation like some psychic parasite, creating a feedback loop of negativity that was hard to shake off. 

Prometheus dug the end of his shovel into the snow and leaned heavily on it, staring at the greyish slush at his feet. It was getting harder to understand his own motivations and feelings nowadays. He  _ wanted _ to make things better for these people, if only because they needed a guiding hand to make their technology less, uh, likely to kill them, but also because it was the tattered remains of his duty as a caretaker. He had to look after these inheritors, whether he approved of them or not, because they were all he had... and they were  _ leagues _ better than Zodiark’s toadies. 

He knew that. Still, he resented them horribly for it. For things beyond their control and things well within it. They were nothing like Amaurotines: they were fractious, selfish,  _ horrible _ people, but also kind and understanding and charitable. They constantly thought of new and terrible ways to torture each other, but they also worked themselves to the bone to find innovative ways to improve their societies and help each other. They made no sense and were so  _ dumb _ but stars, they worked so hard to live with what very little they had. 

Prometheus didn’t know if he hated them or loved them, or respected them or disdained them. He had no idea and it was pissing him off. 

“You alright there?” 

Prometheus looked up at Xado’s voice, blinking slowly to clear some of the thin frost clinging to his eyelashes. His roommate had stopped her work, leaning on her shovel with clear concern. He wondered if she’d still look at him like that if she knew what he really was, inside this mortal prison of flesh and bone.

He straightened up, yanking his shovel out of the snow and getting back to work. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, “Just hating life right now.”

Xado laughed, resuming her own shovelling too, “Yeah, shit sucks right now.” 

_ They do indeed, _ Prometheus thought darkly.

“Oh, by the way,” Xado paused once more, “Did you order something off Pahto? She was rambling about working hard to get you something.”

“Mm?” Prometheus had to think about what she was asking, “Oh, uh, kind of. She said she did procurement for everyone and took requests, so I asked if she could get something…”

Xado squinted at him for a long moment, “...you’re not doing drugs, are you?”

Prometheus was so startled at the blunt accusation he actually laughed, “W-What?  _ No _ ! I asked if she could get a, uh, soulstone for me.” 

“You mean a soul crystal?”

“No,” Prometheus sighed, stifling his irritation with some difficulty. He knew what a soul crystal was, geeze, “A soul _ stone _ . It’s, uh, just some aether-exercise thing I wanna practice with.”

“Is it likely to blow the room up?” Xado asked, “Because we had that once when Pahto was ‘experimenting’ with some product of hers. Room smelt like pot for a week.”

There was a chance of that, but Prometheus wasn’t stupid enough to conduct those type of experiments in his  _ bed. _ He was lax with some lab safety, but not that lax! “No, it won’t blow the room up.” 

“Oh, good,” Xado resumed her shovelling, “Was just checking.”

Bemused at Xado’s suspicions on him doing drugs or planning on blowing up the room, Prometheus reluctantly got back to breaking up the frozen snow into manageable chunks. That did remind him, though, it had been well over a week since Prometheus made his very ‘hush-hush’ inquiry with Pahto and hadn’t heard anything since, so it was nice to hear that his more, uh, energetic roommate hadn’t forgotten about his request despite being stuck on night guard for the past few days. 

Once he had a soulstone, he could continue with his plan to create a sustainable ‘core’ for his new and improved Magitek. Though, he really didn’t like the term ‘Magitek’. It was such a boring  _ Hades _ thing to do, to slap a  _ bland  _ portmanteau of ‘magic’ and ‘tech’ on such a lazily designed Concept. Prometheus would have to rename his own invention into something snappier, like  _ Armiger _ or maybe  _ MECH. _

Hmm, he’ll have to think on it. 

* * *

Meanwhile, in the High Legatus’s office, Hades was ruminating over the same subject from a different angle. 

Magitek was designed to be flawed enough to hobble Garlemald’s military advancement towards expected routes, to allow their Ascian overseers to gently nudge and stall their technological progress in certain bottlenecks and ensure the Garleans didn’t run roughshod over their neighbours too quickly. They didn’t want to end up in  _ another _ Allagan Situation. 

Things became  _ dangerous _ when a civilisation was allowed to advance too much, too quickly. 

A month ago, Hades would’ve said Garlemald was neatly avoiding that danger. Their people were tenacious and clever, but they were still inferior shards with the same intelligence level of a curious monkey. With Hades having a direct hand in the creation and conceptualisation of the Magitek, he was able to subtly stymie any advancement, or coax enough infighting amongst the political elite to keep the Garleans too disorganised to realise his deception. 

(Well, his ‘ _ wife’ _ was the exception to that, but that wildcard was still a controllable variable. Hades had several contingency plans in place for an unfortunate  _ accident _ should she meddle too much)

However. 

Hades fingered the edge of the paper before him, feeling a headache start to throb behind his eyes at the  _ Concept _ placed before him. Sent by Midas, their rising military star, though the engineer emphasised in his notes that it wasn’t  _ him _ who was this Concept’s brainchild, but the young conscript Sehji’a ‘Prom’ Xaiaxu. 

Prom. 

“Even when  _ not _ under the influence of Hydaelyn, you continue to be a thorn in my side,” Hades muttered under his breath, leaning back in his seat. What a dilemma he was in. 

Because. 

This Concept was…  _ good.  _ Very good. Well beyond anything any shard could normally conceive… but it would take the control of Garlemald’s technological progress well out of his hands. It would start a slippery slope Hades would struggle to pull back from the brink, if it spiralled out of control too quickly. 

But. 

“It could be useful…”

It could, in fact, accelerate the timetable for the next Calamity by a  _ considerable _ margin. 


	23. One Thing At A Time

_ “...ssible.” _

_ “How so?” Prometheus asked, observing --------- as it hung, suspended yet still tied to -----, not yet settled on its form and name, “If you read my Concept notes, you’d know I ---- --- - -------- --- the ‘Soulless Creation’ problem.” _

_ “-----” _

_ Prometheus sighed a-------- _

_ \------------**-̘̗̜̤͈̗̓̾̈́̾̍-̘̗̖͎̭͑͆̄̉͒-̢̙̻͚̜͙̎͒̐̓̕-͓͕͓̼͇̠̂̃̒̑̕̚**\---- --------- -**-̘̗̜̤͈̗̓̾̈́̾̍-̘̗̖͎̭͑͆̄̉͒-̢̙̻͚̜͙̎͒̐̓̕-͓͕͓̼͇̠̂̃̒̑̕̚**\----- ---------**-̘̗̜̤͈̗̓̾̈́̾̍-̘̗̖͎̭͑͆̄̉͒-̢̙̻͚̜͙̎͒̐̓̕-͓͕͓̼͇̠̂̃̒̑̕̚**\---------- ---**-̘̗̜̤͈̗̓̾̈́̾̍-̘̗̖͎̭͑͆̄̉͒-̢̙̻͚̜͙̎͒̐̓̕-͓͕͓̼͇̠̂̃̒̑̕̚**\--- _

_ \---- ---------- -------**-̘̗̜̤͈̗̓̾̈́̾̍-̘̗̖͎̭͑͆̄̉͒-̢̙̻͚̜͙̎͒̐̓̕-͓͕͓̼͇̠̂̃̒̑̕̚**- _

_ \----**-̘̗̜̤͈̗̓̾̈́̾̍-̘̗̖͎̭͑͆̄̉͒-̢̙̻͚̜͙̎͒̐̓̕-͓͕͓̼͇̠̂̃̒̑̕̚**\----- ----- _

_ -**-̘̗̜̤͈̗̓̾̈́̾̍-̘̗̖͎̭͑͆̄̉͒-̢̙̻͚̜͙̎͒̐̓̕-͓͕͓̼͇̠̂̃̒̑̕̚** _

_ “----incredibly dangerous. The soul isn’t  _ new _ .” _

_ “It’s like using a plant cutting,” Prometheus said, “You use a viable cutting, plant it, and it  _ grows.  _ Look, the early trials were promising, you saw that yourself. Unless you have a better idea to mitigate the rapid decline of viable births?” _

_ “...not yet, but-” _

_ \----- didn’t ---- _ ** _ ̢̪̲͙̘͉͗͆̑̆͊̍-̖̻̖̲̫͑͂̍̈͋-͙̦̘̹̻̖͑̔́̋͠-̩͕̲̯͚̻̃̈̑̀̌̏_ **

** _-͍̞̤̳̀̉͑̉͝ͅ-̘̗̜̤͈̗̓̾̈́̾̍-̘̗̖͎̭͑͆̄̉͒-̢̙̻͚̜͙̎͒̐̓̕-͓͕͓̼͇̠̂̃̒̑̕̚-̣̜̮̫̮̆̈͐ -͙̦̘̹̻̖͑̔́̋͠_ **

** _d̢͉̮̘͓͉̒̊̐̂̈́̚a̤͓̝̫͕͗̓̍̅́̚͢a̛̤̣̦̻͆̈́̐̕͢ä̮̙̤̮͔́̈́͘͠a͉͚̳̲̰̼͒̔̂̅͌͘ ̪̘͙͇̩͑̈͋̆́A̡̛̹̞̘̳͑̅̚̕_ **

** _A͔̗̰̱̳͙̽͋͂̿͘͡ṱ̛̱̦̺̬̐̅̓ ̢̝̪̦̼͓͊̉̐̈̄͠ä̡̜̞̪͎̖̔̎̋̊̚ ̧͉͔̤̪͍͊͆͆͛̋͊c̟̟̪͇̳͇̒̂́͝͞͝ǫ̼̫͕̭̌͒̍̇̅͜ ̻͔̤̞͖͒͆̌̆̑͘͟R̮̤͎̹̘̃̓̎̊̀ ̢̺͚̭̙̉̈́͆̆͜r̻̳̫̂̅̔͢͟͝r̲̖͍̼̪̫̈̎̓͌̈́̕r̛̗̬̪̯̣̈̿͡ ̡̯̱̖̹̎͛͑̾̕ü͓̪̝͖̤̪͗͌͒̈͘p̧̛̖̖̜̠͙͗͌̌́̕_ **

** _T̛̼̖̬͍̠̀̍͝͡I̡̮͉͎͍͑͆̂͋̎͛͜ ̯̱͖̪́͛̓̓͢o̡̪̲̠̺̠͑͛̿̔̄̌ ̧̤̞̤̹̈̉̓̆ñ̡̤̞̯͔̯͋̽̓͘͠_ **

  
  


_ “ _ ** _-͚͓̠͔̳͉̓̋̈̓̕̕-̧̛̭̼͍̟͕̾͑̔̄̕-̨̬̻̥͚̇̐͋̈̍ ̡͚͓͎̟̤̐͒̈́̒͘͠-̢̫͖̻͇̱̐̌͒̔̄̚ ̨̣̺̬͇̽̑̌͒̏-͙̻̅̃́͊̚͜͜͢ ͙̘͚͔̜͚͆̆͛͂̎͝-͈̺̼͇̤̄̌͐̌͟͝ ̢̪̲͙̘͉͗͆̑̆͊̍-̖̻̖̲̫͑͂̍̈͋-͙̦̘̹̻̖͑̔́̋͠-̩͕̲̯͚̻̃̈̑̀̌̏_ ** _ ” Prometheus murmured, and he turned away from -------, his back to -----, and said, “Such a  _

** _m̢̛̛̰͚̬̓̔́̕͢ͅ ̤̬̪̖͉͛͊̂̌̚͢͝E̢̨͉̳̜͗̽̌̈́̕͜m̨̬̻̲͔̰̈́̉͗̇̈͑ō̧̨͚͖̱̜͆̓̈̂̕r̢̘̫̣̞̯̆̀̇̒̈́͡Ŷ̖̖̘̞̝͑͂̚͘͢͠ ̱͚̮̬̳̉̓̔͌̋͘͜ń̗͈̪̲͕̃̄̏̽͜͡ ̻̮͓͕͚͛̊͆̒͌̚͢O̰̬͙̬͂̽̏̐͟͞T̛̙̹̬̬̺͎̓̓̌͌̒ ̨̤̻̪̺̄̎͒̋̓͜f͈̱͍̮͕̔̄̏̕͢͞͝ǫ͈͔̬͎͔̽̓̄͊̈̍U̧̝̖̲͓͔̓̒͗̄̓n̰̞̠̻̩̎̆͒̾d̛̘̲̲͉͕̑͋͛̅̾͢_ **

  
  


_ this,” sighed and shrugged, “It would make me feel  _ better  _ if you didn’t insist on mutilating yourself.” _

_ “It’s not mutilation,” Prometheus said, “It’s  _ ** _e̻̬̺̣̾͗̋͒̐͟v̡̩̟̤͍̾͌͌̿͂O̧͙̯̺̖̎͆̽̔͜͠ḻ̨̤̘̈͋͊͌͟͡u̟͙̱͍̱̮͌̏̅͌͠T͎͖̰̘̟̙̎̎͌̄́̚I͖̘͚̻̱̍̋̇̚͜͡o̢͕̲̖̯̽̂̾̌̋ͅň̩̟̞͙̘͇̌̋͆̑̿n̢͚̲̠̒͊̔̾͜͟͞͝ņ̧͓̩͈̓̇̃͡Ń̡̜̜͓̯͐̿̕͞N̡͕͖̯̭̿̽̽͛͢͡N͙̖̥̮̤̄̏̔͞͠ͅŅ̯̙͎̝̝̋̒͒͘͠͞_ ** .” 

_ Evolut _ ** _ĉ̛̟̠͕̭͈͒̆̾̈́͟ ̢̲̞͕̼̹̔̌̏̒̔͂o̻̖͇̓̃̊͂͐͜ͅ ̨̛̺̘̼͗͂͗͢R̘͓̙̰͙̳͒̏͊̀͋͘ ͔͍̠̺͇̤͗̋̈́̄͆͘r̛̻̖͙̩͗͌̔̄̑͢ͅ ̢͕̪̻̄̀̇̏͐̽͢ͅR͍̞̬̪̘͎̐͂͂̚͠͠r̢̹̮̦̦͛̈́͒̂͝ͅu͎̲̲̲̰̍̃̓̒̚p̛̬̪̩͎͈̈̔̀̚͟͡ ̨̗̥̯̼̏͗͆̂͡t̢̬̗̩̱͇͑̓͑̀͌̋_ ** _ ion.  _

_ no  _

_ no this was  _

** _t͕̪̖̼͉͑̏̓͟͝h̖͍͙̥̻̽͒͊̃̊̀ͅį̖̳̺̣̭͐̐̿̊͑͊ș̡̢̹̞̌͞͞͝͡ ̨̬̩̪͍̈́̑̔͆̋i̮̞̰̍̈́͐̏̕͢͜͜͠s͖͇̜̟̯̒̍͌̈́͋͗͟_ **

“Oi! Prom! Stop dozing on that Colossus!”

Midas’s bark cut through Prometheus’s distorted, jumbled dream sharp enough that he was upright and brandishing his spanner before he was even conscious of it. He blinked groggily at the tangled guts of wire and conductors in the open panel before him, then a little past it to where Midas was scowling at him from the workshop floor. 

Prometheus stared blankly. 

“Wha?” he said intelligibly. 

“You were snoring louder than a buzzsaw,” Midas sighed, resting his hands on his hips, “Prom, did you stay up late again?”

“Nnno- yes-  _ no _ ,” Prometheus blustered, “I- er, I went to  _ bed  _ early!”

Which was  _ true _ … it was just he had been awake in said bed, staring blankly at the underside of Ahyi’s bunk as his mind buzzed restlessly. The freezing winter had brought a black mood to him that he couldn’t shift no matter how hard he tried, like a clawed hand delving into the murky pools of his mind and stirring up the dark, polluted silt to cloud the surface. 

There were just times where he thought… what was even the point, right now? He was diverting most of his focus onto these new Magitek of his, but he couldn’t start the testing phase until Pahto came through with her delivery of soulstones. Which meant all that was left to him was brooding over his situation, which was… well. 

Yeah. 

“Uh huh, right,” Midas didn’t seem impressed, snapping Prometheus back to the present, “Pull the other one, Prom, I was spouting that excuse to my parents when  _ I _ was a  _ child _ .”

Prometheus fought back an irritated frown, the scolding rubbing him the wrong way - even if it was a valid telling off. He  _ had _ been caught dozing on the job, a very irresponsible dereliction of duty. 

Still, the resentment bubbled close to the surface.

“Finish your maintenance,” Midas sighed, shaking his head at Prometheus’s silence, “Then take a quick nap in the break room. Last thing we need is you cutting your arm off because you fell asleep at the wrong time.”

“Yessir,” Prometheus said quietly, watching as Midas walked away. 

He reluctantly got back to work after that, a dull headache thumping somewhere behind his eyes. He had a feeling that his nap wasn’t going to help matters at all, that it’d just be him staring at the ceiling again, thinking of the yawning impossibility of his situation. 

How was he going to deal with Hades? How was he going to figure out what was going on, as just a lowly conscript who had little to no agency? The second he stepped outside of his hanger, freed of his duties here, some Garlean officer snapped him up and ordered him to shovel more snow or demean himself in some other menial task. Usually it was Centurio Mateo. That fucker was stalking him, just to make his life miserable. 

Because of that, Prometheus didn’t have the time or opportunity to find out what the  _ fuck _ was happening. He couldn’t even desert, since the compound was built like an open-air prison and he’d be blown to bits the split second his traitorous snout crossed the camp’s threshold, courtesy of one of the many gun turrets lining the base’s walls. 

A dull spike of pain in his fingers drew Prometheus from his resentful thoughts, and he relaxed his white-knuckled grip around his spanner, sighing quietly. 

What was  _ with _ him lately?

“It’s not like me to get so negative,” he mumbled - then paused, “Well, actually, it is. But, I’m normally  _ proactive _ about dealing with it, rather than…  _ wallowing _ .”

In Amaurot, when Prometheus realised his inadequacies as a person, he crafted the Armigers to improve where he was found wanting. Lazarus, to combat his mental and emotional imbalances, Gaia to assist in dampening the worst of his aether sensitivity, Sariel for his deficiencies in close quarter combat, Lethe for-

Prometheus stared distantly at the guts of the Colossus, his brain drawing an abrupt, disorientating blank. Uh, Lethe for…?

Ah, one of his blank spots. Disconcerted, but used to them by now, he shook his head. Slowly, during the weeks here, he was stumbling over more and more of those  _ blank spots. _ Gaping holes in his memories, where it simply  _ wasn’t there _ , or so murky and corrupted it was nonsensical. He swore he sometimes dreamt of them, his brain no doubt trying to make sense of them by spitting it out into his dreams and seeing what his subconscious made of it, but-

It didn’t help. Prometheus had a feeling that his soul was damaged too much to recall those memories. They were no doubt permanently lost. 

He smacked his cheek, trying to psyche himself up. Okay. Enough.  _ Enough. _ Stop wallowing! You didn’t have Lazarus here anymore to adjust the necessary brain chemicals to avoid these depressive spirals. You had to just. Stop. Being.  _ Negative. _

Prometheus finished his mental pep talk with a sharp pinch to his wrist, until his fingernails broke the skin, and then flung himself into a flurry of motion, blocking everything out except the Colossus in front of him. He had to get through this. He’ll figure something out, he always did! Even if he was a powerless mortal now, he was Prometheus, the Fourteenth and the greatest mage and technologist who ever lived! There was no problem he couldn’t solve, no mystery he couldn’t unravel! 

This dark mood wasn’t going to conquer him! 

* * *

His determination lasted until he tried to nap in the break room. 

It was the warmest room in the workshop, as it wasn’t cavernous or drafty like the main hangar was. The dogs there acted like a pseudo heated blanket too, Prometheus sprawling out on the battered sofa with three of them lying on top of him. Their snuffly, loud breathing was soothing, even if his brain churned uneasily. 

He was so sick of being mortal. Seriously. 

“I still don’t understand why I was reborn like this,” Prometheus murmured softly, “Why don’t I have access to my magic?”

For ‘magic’ and ‘aether’ were two separate things. While Prometheus had pinpoint control over his body’s aether, and therefore, able to augment his natural strength and stamina, he found it nigh impossible to manipulate it into viable spells - or funnelling it into acts of Creation. There was just so  _ little _ of it! He was used to blowing mass amounts of aether without a second thought, so to find himself with only a thimbleful of the stuff was beyond confusing. How the hell was he meant to do  _ anything _ with only a drop?

“But mortals can cast magic,” he muttered to himself, “So there must be a way…”

Maybe downgrading his spells? Somehow? But then if he did, their efficiency would  _ plummet _ . For example, cutting the aether requirements of his preferred  _ Ultima _ spell down to what he possessed currently would  _ massively _ reduce the spell’s effectiveness. Instead of sublimating them down to atoms in a flash of a microsecond, his weakened Ultima would instead give them, like, a really bad sunburn. Maybe some radiation poisoning if he was lucky. It was pretty much a supernova in miniature, nuclear processes included. 

In short: useless against Zodiark’s disciples. 

“...this is the opposite of napping,” Prometheus scolded himself, “Idiot. Stop thinking.” 

He forcibly stopped brooding over his bleak situation, closing his eyes and breathing in deep and slow. Relax and sleep. Pahto said the soulstone would be coming in her next delivery, which should be soon. Then he could busy himself with his new Concept, create a military weapon that didn’t break down every five seconds, and then… 

…

He’ll burn that bridge when he got to it. One thing at a time. One thing that he could _control_ right now. Hades, Zodiark, he couldn’t do anything about them right now, no matter how much he wanted to, so he needed to _stop._ _thinking. about. them. _

One thing at a time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is time skip chapter, which will signify the beginning of a new arc mm hm hm hm


	24. Interlude: Letters II

** _Prototype #1_ _   
_ ** _ **Designation:** PAN-TERrAin Reconnaissance Unit (PANTERA) _

_ (cramped notes in the margin say: Prom seems to want an animal naming/design theme for his prototypes. Thought it an easy enough thing to indulge him on, as he’s the lead on the development process) _

_ **Characteristics**: like name designation, bodyplan of unit is quadrupedal. Chassis is heavyweight, which raised concerns of restricting its agility over rough terrain. Several trials will be conducted manipulating strength and flexion of the legs to see if the chassis weight can be off-set. Improvement of balance servos needed, as when weight tips too far to one side, unit fails to efficiently compensate, resulting in capsize issues.  _

_ Internal structures mirror that of the automated Colossus units (hence why chassis is heavy-set, currently repurposing existing Colossus chassis until funding can be secured for further optimisation), with some sophistication in processing ability allowing for more unsupervised autonomy. Engineer Xaiaxu has expressed dissatisfaction with the quality of materials and software. Suggests increased research into viable Artificial Intelligence (AI). Requests sent to higher and awaiting response.  _

_ Main power core has been swapped from the inefficient Cereleum engine to ‘Armiger Core’ (name subject to revision). Engineer Xaiaxu handled the creation of the core from a soulstone. Tremendous amounts of aether are required, as well as a soulstone. Engineer Xaiaxu was laid up for three days after the creation of one (1) Armiger Core from aether exhaustion.  _

_ (cramped notes in the margin say: Prom says there’s a more efficient way of doing this, but it requires a lot of crystals to achieve. Once the prototype shows success, we can petition for crystals to take the brunt of the aether cost, instead of draining Prom dry each time. This does mean that per unit, the PANTERA will be approx 3x more expensive than a basic Colossus unit to produce, but overall would be a positive investment. Maintenance costs will be significantly lower and fuel is not a requirement for its continuous use. Estimate a year of service will recoup losses from initial purchase) _

_ **Early Trials:** tentative success. Unit expresses capable movement and adequate speed/agility. No weapons have been mounted as of yet, but due to its bodyplan and chassis, may install either a spinal cannon or a machine-gun on lower back. Potential for shoulder-mounted missile systems as well, once we figure out the capsizing issues. Engineer Xaiaxu has suggested either adopting a hexapedal bodyplan, or somehow streamlining the chassis. _

_ **Pros:** Fast-hitting unit, capable of traversing across the roughest of terrain (even scrambling up vertical cliffs!) while maintaining overwhelming, constant firepower. Lack of need for fuel means this unit can run indefinitely, or until total destruction. Once it runs out of munitions for its weapons (unless a Magitek Ray can be installed, drawing on ambient aether to fire), its mechanical body will allow it to be efficient in CQB against humanoid targets. Improvements to its AI and targeting solutions will result in a highly independent, automated weapon that can conduct long-ranging reconnaissance or ambushing of enemy patrols/recce units without having to commit our own soldiers to danger. _

_ **Cons:** Its speed and agility requires light, plated armour. Sufficient to defend against glancing blows or basic kinetic strikes (arrows and such), but dedicated blows via magic or cannonfire will devastate the unit. Its armament will require munitions to be stored somewhere on its body, preferably internal to reduce possibility of ignition via hostile Fire spells. Due to its mechanical nature, its performance is highly likely to be reduced in extreme hostile climates: severe cold will freeze up joints or lubricating oils, and severe heat will cause overheating and emergency shutdowns. Engineer Xaiaxu has promised to look into these issues to improve its overall effectiveness in all terrains.  _

_ (cramped notes at the bottom of the report say: honestly, I’m a little terrified at how easily Prom cooked this monster up. Even though he’s using established technology, the way he’s utilising it is incredible! I can’t wait to see how he further improves this first (first!!!) prototype. I have a feeling I will continue to learn plenty from him, observing as I have been…  _

_ His next prototype is something capable of flight, like one of our drones but far more sophisticated. FALCON, though he hasn’t told me what that stands for yet. Another recce unit, perhaps? Or maybe a light assault unit for air support? _

_ I don’t know, and honestly, I can’t wait to find out) _

* * *

_ (excerpt of a business case sent from High Legatus Galvus’s office to the Garlean Republic’s Administration Office: _

** _Reasons_ **

_ The Engineering Corps faces several problems which are impacting its operational effectiveness and resulting in failures in the Service Test. These are:  _

  * _A high volume of complex paperwork involved when ordering spare parts_
  * A high number of costly errors made when ordering spare parts by mistake
  * A high number of orders resulting in failure due to mismanagement of paperwork either within the Corps or at GR’s Admin Office
  * Engineers often delayed in maintaining Magitek forces effectively due to accidentally ordering the wrong parts
  * Engineers deterred from experimenting with improvements to Magitek forces due to inability to order parts beyond what is ‘vital’

** _Options_ **

  1. _ Train the _Architectus _to more reliably order spare parts. This option would reduce the number of wrongly ordered parts. This will require additional training to be implemented alongside their apprenticeship, placing the burden on the _Architectus Ordinum_ to arrange and supervise the additional training, and the _Architectus Veteranus_ to deliver said training._
  2. _ Streamline the process to reduce confusion by centralising control over military supplies to the High Legatus’s Office. This will require the Republican Senate to surrender a portion of its finances to the High Legatus’s Office to cut away the financial bureaucracy, emplacing a neutral party to audit the finances usage…)_

* * *

_ Excerpts from the Minister of City Planning, Tiberius het Cato’s journal entries: _

_ I honestly don’t know what to think about this ‘Solus problem’. Half the Senate either want to lick his boots, or are painting targets on his back to take his prestigious position for themselves - or to eliminate a dangerous growing threat. With the Magitek model firmly established and new engineers rising in prominence, he isn’t exactly  _ necessary _ anymore.  _

_ Better the devil you know, though. Solus  _ is _ a capable strategist, and is pushing our army through Ilsabard at good speed. With the raw materials being sent back here from newly occupied territories, Garlemald’s capital should be improved to withstand the next extreme weather front with infrastructure more or less intact. I suppose I’m on the fence of wanting to keep him around, but I’m honestly not too fond of the man.  _

_ I heard rumours recently of lifting him to the rank of  _ Dictator _ , while the war continues on. On one hand, I see the reasoning: the senate is a bit cumbersome with its red tape and penny-pinching, the army just isn’t receiving the funding and support it needs to successfully maintain a presence in our new annexed territories. That might be the old Tribunus in me, though, giving me a slight bias towards the army.  _

_ Gods know it had always been an ordeal shaking anything out of the senate to improve our lot…  _

_ It’s creating too much tension in the Senate, though. The split seems even enough, and the last thing we need is a civil war erupting. Solus would be on the winning side anyways, and everyone knows it. It’s better to keep everything bloodless for now, lest our enemies take advantage of our internal disunity and stall our momentum.  _

_ Might, in fact, be preferable to instate him as Dictator, stress it as  _ temporary _ , before any thoughts of a military coup take physical shape. I might discuss this with the Consul later… _

* * *

_ Orders pinned to every barracks’ notice board, as well as in the mess hall: _

** _WARNING ORDER_ **

** _ALL SOLDIERS ARE TO BE PREPARED TO DEPLOY SOON AFTER A PERIOD OF HIGH TEMPO TRAINING. TIMELINE OF DEPLOYMENTS ARE AS FOLLOWS: _ **

** _1ST ENGINEERING REGIMENT AND 3RD LEGION, DEPLOY TO DALMASCA TO ESTABLISH FORWARD OPERATING BASE. DATES WILL FOLLOW CLOSER TO THE TIME. _ **

** _1ST LEGION, DEPLOY TO DALMASCA AS MAIN INVASION FORCE. DATES WILL FOLLOW CLOSER TO THE TIME. _ **

** _2ND LEGION, HELD AT READINESS AS RESERVES. DATE WILL FOLLOW…_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i lied NEXT chapter is the proper timeskip, this is just, uh, setting the scene /coughs

**Author's Note:**

> just an idea i had. since this is before ffxiv's canon plotline by several decades, that means majority of the cast haven't even been born yet. It's mostly going to be focused on Amaurotine!WoL, Emet-Selch and looooads of OCs. Cid's dad may be making an appearance, depending on the direction of where this goes. I have, like, a point A to B to C idea of the plot, but there's a lot of wriggle room for me to do something else 
> 
> tell me what you think! any ideas or hcs on Garlean history/culture pre-Imperial would be great!


End file.
